Calling Card
by Bambu
Summary: In which Severus receives an unexpected visitor and learns that even after graduation Hermione Granger is a diligent student. (My real first SS/HG, written in 2004, well before HBP)
1. Chapter 1

**Calling Card**

By Bambu

**Disclaimer and Author's Notes**: The wondrous world of J.K. Rowling's imagining does not belong to me, nor do I financially profit from it. The underlying source material belongs in its entirety to J.K. Rowling (save where she has sold her rights to various entities). Other than my readers' enjoyment, I make no monetary profit from my fanfiction.

I wrote this story in 2004 (post OoTP's book release, and long before knowledge of Snape's infatuation with Lily Evans and half-blood status was canon) for my wonderful beta SnarkyWench's birthday. At that time, I was quite new to the HP fandom, and was still working out my concept of these characters for my epic, _The Summoning_. This was pretty much my first attempt at fanfiction.

Please note that I haven't looked at this story in years. It stands as a benchmark from whence I came. I do hope you'll bear with my story as I know there are bits and pieces which no longer reflect canon compliance.

In terms of resources, the HP Lexicon was an invaluable source for clarification of several points. At the time of writing this story, no specifics other than the year 1960 were given for the Potions Master's birthday. I simply chose a date convenient for my timeline. As far as the potions and spells I adapted for my use, I relied on several online dictionaries. '_Compromettere_,' means to 'unmask' and '_Dettare,' _means 'dictate.' They are both Italian translations. For the Latin terms, I've used "_Intectus_," meaning 'unclothe,' as well as "_Extenuo,"_ meaning 'to make small,' 'to reduce.'

Additionally, aside from personal knowledge, the information for Hakone came from Japan-guide dot com. Kamakura can be seen from the link as well. I have attempted to give contextual clues to certain Japanese words for ease of comprehension, and if I have been remiss, my apologies.

For all who wondered, the 'wizard' author alluded to is Edgar Allen Poe, and there is a shout out to another immortal author, Jane Austen, in the last act. Trust me, it will be obvious!

~o0o~

_**Chapter One: Gambit**_

_In which Severus receives an unexpected visitor and learns that even after graduation Hermione Granger is a diligent student._

~o0o~

"Get out, Miss Granger," snarled Severus Snape as he looked at the woman comfortably ensconced upon the leather couch in his private chambers. He had hoped never to see this particular witch again.

"June 25, 2001," she said. "The last time you ever spoke to me, those were the final words you used. I had thought ten years might've changed something."

Something had indeed changed over the course of ten years. Hermione Granger was no longer the trembling, but courageous, twenty-one-year old who had met the Dark Lord at the side of her closest friends – and Severus - in the final victorious battle between the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix. Her post-battle experiences had apparently tempered her inner-fortitude into a tensile strength, beautiful to behold but lethal in application.

Severus would have to be careful. His heart thudded in his chest. He had not seen her since shortly after the final battle.

Hermione gracefully uncrossed her legs; the whisper of silk drew Severus' inadvertent attention to the shimmer of her stockings, encasing lithe and toned legs, as she elegantly rose to her feet. The black court shoes added inches to her height; even so, she would barely reach Severus' chin were she to stand next to him.

The tall Potions Master narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms in a forbidding gesture as he took in his former student's attire. She was wearing a mixture of Muggle and wizarding clothing: mid-thigh length, black silk skirt, revealing more of those finely toned thighs, and a scarlet crepe de chine blouse. The ensemble was covered by nubby, raw silk robes, also in black, which held a lustre all their own. He couldn't tell whether her hair had been tamed or not, but it was bound in a loose and intricate style which framed her face becomingly.

Grudgingly, Severus admitted she had matured into a self-assured, striking woman. Nothing was left of the student, save her intelligence and her bright, inquisitive brown eyes. Somewhere deep in his mind, he missed the forthright eagerness of the young woman she had been.

However, intelligent or not, former student or not, this was a witch who had infiltrated his privacy. It was a transgression did not accept lightly from anyone, former member of the Golden Trio, Order of Merlin First Class recipient, Gryffindor know-it-all or not.

Fury all but pulsed in the room as it radiated off his body. He addressed her once again, condescension firmly in place. "I was quite explicit in my rebuff of your _affections_ ten years ago, Miss Granger. With your much vaunted intelligence, although notably absent when you chose to invade my home, I am more than certain you will understand that you are not welcome now. Get out, immediately!"

"Charming as ever, Severus," Hermione coolly replied as she bent to retrieve a small box she had set on the pile of books which littered his coffee table.

Her entire trip had been speculative, and Hermione Granger never gambled with something she was unprepared to lose. Then again, he had never been hers to lose.

That was entirely the point.

Her heart beat rapidly, and she struggled to maintain her formidable composure. Severus would have been surprised to know that she had learned how from him. She straightened, appraising him briefly before taking a step in his direction, her demeanor slightly predatory.

Severus narrowed his eyes, recognizing the authority in Hermione's demeanor. He had been highly ranked in a den of predators and didn't appreciate being stalked as prey.

Hermione light, exotic fragrance wafted through the air. It filled Severus' clever nose; he detected hints of ylang ylang, neroli and several other exotic floral scents mingled together. It would be an expensive fragrance to acquire.

He briefly recalled that by the time she had graduated Hogwarts, her inheritance had been almost depleted. Concern over her potential destitution had been a hot topic at several meetings of the Order of the Phoenix, and she was offered a home at 12 Grimmauld Place.

After her graduation, unsurprisingly at the top of her class, she had chosen to live in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black with Potter, Lupin and the Weasleys. As far as Severus knew, Hermione had lived there until after the final battle and his last awkward meeting with her.

He had not seen or heard about her since that day.

Of course, he refused to socialize with members of the Order. Severus' enforced interaction with the Boy Who Succeeded and his sycophantic friends had been terminated with the downfall of the Dark Lord.

Fleetingly, however, Severus wondered just how Miss Granger earned her living. Everything about her screamed wealth, quality and luxury.

"I simply wanted to inform you, _Professor_, that I have, at long last, yesterday in fact, completed the final assignment you gave me. August 30, 2011."

Piqued by her words, Severus took the bait in spite of his inclination, and glared at her as he asked the obvious, "You have been a graduate of this institution for more than a decade, Miss Granger. Of what are you speaking?"

As Hermione drew near, she smiled a generous, honestly amused smile.

He had never seen her smile at him before, and he wasn't quite prepared for the way it altered her features. She was almost - lovely.

"Let me see if I recall the exact wording, Professor Snape. The date of the assignment is indelibly etched into my memory. June 25, two days after the fall of Voldemort, and the wholesale death of many of my friends. We were in your office and you shouted, '_Leave my sight, Miss Granger. Go out into the world. Conquer your field, whatever you determine that to be, you silly little girl. Spare me your histrionics and grow up. Fall in love, get your heart broken by someone equally immature, attempt to use your brain instead of regurgitating facts and information, and perhaps, in time, you will actually fall in love as an adult. But, whatever you do, Miss Granger, spare me your puppy-like enthusiasm and delayed school girl crush. It is not appreciated, nor requited. You waste my time. Get out, Miss Granger._'"

Severus froze in place as his harsh words of a decade past were coolly spoken, verbatim, in a passable imitation of his most condescending air. He kept his mouth shut. Truly, he had no idea what Miss Granger wanted or expected from him.

His years as a spy had taught him many things, one of which was that patience rewarded those who practiced it. Once again, it was proving a useful tool.

"I left your sight, spared you my '_histrionics'_ and _'puppy-like enthusiasm'_. July 30, 2001, I left England to go out into the world to _'conquer'_ my field. It's taken some time, but gratifyingly, I've found some measure of success." As she spoke, Hermione circled the tall, glowering wizard, assessing the physical changes in the man standing defensively before her.

She noted the slight sparkle of silver at his temples, the deeper furrow at his brow. His hair was clean, and he sported a silver-flecked goatee, kept well-trimmed. It suited his narrow face, and added a softening to his hawk-like features that'd never been there before. Severus Snape was still lean and fit - decades of subterfuge and surveillance had accustomed him to remain in fighting trim - and he was a man who admired precision and regulation in his life. His traditional teaching robes were draped around him, lending him the commanding air of authority that had once made him a figure of terror to her, but had long since played a prominent part of her fantasies.

Severus followed Hermione's progress around his bookshelf-lined sitting room with furious, snapping black eyes. She assessed his books, gracefully tracing their spines in an almost loving caress as she moved.

He found her presence insufferable and impertinent.

She had always been annoying, but now she exhibited such self-confidence that if pressed he might have to admit he admired her style. She could still get under his skin, even after all these years.

"March 21, 2001," she said, pulling his attention to her face, "I realized I was in love with you, three months before Voldemort's defeat; the day you stood up to Albus and told him to quit treating Harry like a pawn and to listen to what he had to say. I had always valued your intelligence and the sacrifices you made, but it took you standing up to Albus on behalf of someone I knew you loathed in order for me to recognize the truth of my own feelings."

Crossing in front of the fire, the crackling flames backlit her figure and, even shrouded by black robes, she was slender and graceful.

Severus held his temper in check, allowing her to incriminate herself before his strike. In some respects, they were like duelists; she was first wand, while he remained behind a protective shield. His turn would come.

"October 7, 2003, the day my heart broke. I had already left the country, but I kept up with the news. You announced your engagement to the widowed Narcissa Malfoy." None of the soul-killing anguish she had lived through ruffled the calm surface of Hermione's smooth voice. "I gave up on you and moved on. December 31, 2004, I learned about falling in love as an adult. September 21, 2005, I was married. June 13, 2008, he died, and I learned about having my heart broken as an adult."

It sounded as if she was reciting an incantation or a list of books she was ordering from Flourish and Blotts. There was no outward sign that her heart raced in her chest, or that her palms were a bit damp from nervousness. Reaching the corner of the large room and his personal desk, Hermione halted and turned to face him.

Severus' eyes tracked her movements like a Seeker searching for the Golden Snitch; awaiting the moment she would reveal why she was really there. She must want something. There couldn't possibly be any other reason she was in his quarters. Hermione's collected manner of expression was as unsettling as her outward shell.

He couldn't detect any of the enthusiasm she had exhibited as a child. It was this difference, more than anything else that ineradicably ruptured his earlier mental image of her, replacing the gabardine-clothed, eager eleven-year-old of his mind's eye with the composed, mature, elegant woman who, at present, commanded his attention.

While he watched Hermione, the underlying meaning of her recitation sank in. She had honestly believed herself in love with him all those years ago, that it hadn't been a school girl crush, and she credited his chastisement as something of a personal catalyst. Severus wasn't certain what he thought about that or her. It wouldn't do to recall any of the unresolved thoughts he had about her years ago, and had buried deeply since then.

He had no idea what to think of her now, other than the fact he wanted her out of his chambers. She was an unwelcome intrusion upon his self-imposed isolation, ruffling his equanimity.

When his engagement to Narcissa had been broken, Severus was stripped of his last sustaining illusion. Even now, he found it difficult to believe he had retained any illusions which could have been tarnished. He had been wrong. Painfully wrong.

Severus had initially followed Lucius Malfoy into the depths of servitude and debasement for what he had believed was the requited devotion of a witch with whom he had fallen in love when he was seventeen. Severus had thought that by remaining in Lucius' favor he could be near the object of his teenaged devotion. For two decades, Narcissa had judiciously fed the lie that she married Lucius only because of familial obligations, never fully declaring herself to Severus until after Lucius' death. Severus had remained faithful, ruthlessly crushing any potential penchant he might have formed for another witch during the long years that he had cherished his teenaged ideal.

After he had severed the engagement, Severus berated himself harshly for not recognizing the signs of her insincerity, but had ruefully acknowledged that he had been only too happy to claim what he considered was his just reward for twenty years of heartbreaking loneliness and life-threatening espionage.

Narcissa Black had been his first love.

Immediately prior to the broken engagement, and several months after they had first announced their impending nuptials, Severus had learned just how little she cared. He had overheard Narcissa talking to her house-bound son, telling Draco how with careful management, her marriage to Severus would free her son from his Wizengamot-mandated sentence, and further, that Severus had no clue how useful he was. After mother and son had shared a laugh at "Snivellus'" expense, Narcissa had continued, asserting that because of the Potions Master's reputation as reformed Death Eater and Hero of the Final Battle, Order of Merlin Second Class, the Minister was willing to grant him almost any favor. The eavesdropping Severus had felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest and trampled, pumping his life's blood onto the cold marble floor.

His long-suffering, self-sacrificing love, which had led him to reap from innocent victims the harvest of his own childhood torment, had been a chimera.

He had cherished hopes of taking his bride to his ancestral home, opening it once again to stand at the pinnacle of wizarding society. His sacrifices would have been more than rewarded. Standing in the sterile hall of Malfoy Manor with his hopes dashed on the jagged rocks of reality, Severus had tasted blood. His own. He had bitten through his tongue in an effort not to hurl an Unforgivable in his soon-to-be ex-fiancée's faithless direction.

He had left Malfoy Manor, sent Narcissa an owl dissolving all ties, and retreated into the familiar and comforting patterns that had sustained him through the dark times of his life. Teaching. Research. Living in the dungeons.

Isolated. Alone. Bitter.

Lonely.

Hermione's voice continued as she reached his desk, breaking into his momentary reverie. Severus watched her stroke the weathered teak surface with her slender, well-manicured fingers. It was an affectionate, caressing gesture.

"June 13, 2011," she said. "I had a personal epiphany; that regardless of my success and the modicum of maturity I've gained over this past decade, there has been one constant guiding force in my life. Since I was eleven years old, that constant has been you. I carried your directives with me even after I left Hogwarts. I would like to thank you."

The brunette witch placed the small wooden box upon the corner of Severus' care-worn and ink-stained desk, a contrast with the silvering of the aged teak. Turning around, Hermione met his glare with unruffled ease. "I appreciate your giving me a few minutes of your time today. I know you're busy. I've followed your recent research and read your published articles. It's been heartening to know that your career has flourished. Oddly enough, you inspired my choice of careers, as well. I create personalized wards for confidential clients. This box—" she gestured to the small box, "—my gift to you, is an example of my work. I'll see myself out now."

Hermione crossed to the door of his chambers, trailing her exotic fragrance behind her, then turned to face him one last time. Her heart was in her throat, and she ruthlessly squashed her nerves, determined to have her say. This was, after all, the sole reason she had come to England. "Oh, yes. One final significant date in my _curriculum vitae_. Yesterday, August 30, 2011. I realized that the greatest irony of my life, Severus, is that the other constant in my life remains the fact I still love you. As an adult. I know it's neither requited nor are my feelings anything but repellant to you. I have suffered a broken heart more than once. At least I know the remedy. Time and distance." Her hand wrapped around the doorknob. "I wish you well, _Professor_. I hope you find some joy."

The door closed silently behind her.

She was gone, but would not soon be forgotten.

Severus Snape was gobsmacked.

The audacious little snip of a witch! How dare she come here, into his private chambers as if invited, and speak to him in such a manner?

He paced furiously in front of his fireplace, the well-worn floor indicating that this was not an unusual occurrence. How had she gotten access to his private chambers? Severus was very proud of his personal wards; they had never before been breached. Yet, Hermione Granger had bypassed them as if they were non-existent. Impossible. Until today, a small voice in his head snickered. No one other than himself had access to his chambers, not even the Headmaster.

Albus.

Severus halted mid-stride. Of course. The old man must have granted her permission to use the intra-school Floo network which was only supposed to be activated in emergencies. Severus scowled as he realized that Albus was so besotted by his golden Gryffindors that he would use an emergency system for their whims.

Storming to his fireplace, Severus grabbed a handful of Floo Powder from the delicate china urn on the mantle and threw it into the ever-present fire. Stepping into the green flames, the professor shouted, "Headmaster's office."

Moments later, the Potions Master in all his glory waved his palm over his teaching robes to wandlessly remove any residual soot from his person as he sneered at the benign, twinkling visage of Albus Dumbledore who, as always, welcomed him to his domain.

"Severus, my lad, so glad you could drop by. Are you ready for the new term? I think we'll have a delightful new group of first years. There are three Weasley children in the incoming class, Bill and Fleur's twins, and Percy Weasley's daughter."

"Albus," Severus uttered warningly, attempting to halt the flow of the Headmaster's stream-of-conscious dialogue. The Headmaster could spout it at any given opportunity. In the past, he had often used it as a distraction and cover, while at other times he genuinely shared his thoughts of the moment.

Severus was unsure which way Albus' wind blew at present, desiring to angle his broom in the prevailing direction.

Albus blinked twice and focused his attention on the dour, angry wizard, draped in black, standing aggressively in front of his desk. "What? Is there something wrong?"

"Hermione Granger?" Severus waited for Albus to acknowledge that he knew of her presence, that he had assisted her into his rooms. The sign of a telltale blush, perhaps an additional twinkle in his crystal blue eyes.

Regrettably, the Potions Master was to be disappointed.

"Hermione Granger? Lovely young witch. I heard she got married - what was her married name? No matter. You know, Severus, I miss her; she was such a breath of fresh air in this castle. Always so eager to learn new disciplines. We have yet to see another like her…." Momentarily taking a mental stroll down memory lane, Albus Dumbledore's voice faded as his thoughts overtook his tongue.

Severus had no patience for the guise of geniality he was certain the Headmaster was using. He growled, "Albus, how did she get into my chambers?"

"What? Your chambers? Severus, what are you doing with Miss Granger in your chambers? You will bring her to dinner this evening, won't you? I'm sure Minerva would love to see her. It's been years since she moved to Japan. I didn't know she was here for a visit. Did young Harry come with her?"

Severus almost snarled his response, he was so frustrated. "No, she is not coming to dinner, Potter did not come with her, and I am not doing _anything_ with her in my chambers. I thought you let her in."

"Severus, you know I would never trespass upon your private rooms unless you invited me to do so. Anyway, why would I let her in when she's your guest? Severus, you're not making sense." For all his one-hundred-fifty-plus years of wisdom and experience, Albus Dumbledore was sometimes nothing more than an abstracted, dedicated educator attempting to juggle one too many students and one too many problems with far too small a budget. This was one of those times. "You know, my boy, if you want to invite Miss Granger to dinner, we would all be delighted to see her again. She would be good for you. I know how lonely you've been."

With a growl and an abrupt departure, Severus Floo'd back to his chambers. The visit had been useless, except that it appeared Miss Granger had indeed accomplished something no one else ever had.

She had broken his personal wards.

He glowered at the small box lying upon his desk. It was approximately three inches wide, five inches long, two inches deep, and made of fragrant cedar. Etched upon the lid was a symbol, one he didn't recognize, and it shimmered magically as if it were masked somehow. Despite his ire with the witch, he was fascinated by the box. Severus picked it up. It was incredibly lightweight, and something shifted inside. Shaking the box, he could hear the distinctive thud of metal against wood, and wondered what it was that Granger had given him.

Suddenly, Severus was livid.

He was acting in a typically predictable fashion, and no doubt just as _she_ had intended. Again. Suddenly, he hurled the fragrant box across the room into the stone hearth, hoping the damned thing would shatter upon impact.

It didn't.

In fact, impact never occurred. The cedar box halted its trajectory two inches from the gray stone of his fireplace and floated, unharmed, untarnished, and undamaged, awaiting his pleasure.

Angered beyond measure at this demonstration of the Granger chit's cleverness, Severus stormed across his sitting room to retrieve the witch's gift. It nestled easily within the palm of his large hand. Enraged with the box, with Granger, but most of all with himself, Severus flung the small wooden box into the flames of his fireplace.

That should be the end of the witch's attempts to curry his favor.

He stalked to his dining area, the small maple table already set for his dinner, Slytherin House china gleaming in the candlelight. He ran his fingers over the finely sanded surface of the wood. Severus had always had an affinity for wood. Its lustre, its living warmth had soothed his soul for years.

There had been many a time when Severus was certain he wouldn't survive yet another summons from the Dark Lord. He would sit at his desk or his small dining table, laying his forehead against the cool, grainy surface of the wood, seeking the timber it had once been, the living essence of the tree that had withstood innumerable years and the vagaries of fate which dictated that it ended up in planks and carved into furniture. The fact that even in a non-natural state the hewn trunks of trees could morph into a thing of beauty gave him hope. The imperfections called to his bruised soul and he took heart that he, too, might one day become a thing of beauty to someone, somewhere.

Severus seated himself, and stroked the grain of wood, seeking solace, while he reached for the wine glass with his other hand. A glass of wine was much needed after the unexpected encounter with Granger. The house-elves took great care of him and were never seen, for which he was grateful, especially this evening.

After the fall of the Dark Lord, it hadn't been often that Severus' composure was shaken, but the witch's presence and her pronouncements had been unsettling. Not to mention the fact that he would have to change the wards on his sanctuary.

In love with him.

Severus took a large gulp of his Barolo. The woman thought she was in love with him. He snorted derisively, and finished the first glass of wine. She couldn't possibly be; he doubted that she understood what the words meant. Love meant sacrifice and years of unrequited longing. No, she couldn't possibly have a clue. Her life had been charmed and perfect. He pointedly disregarded the years she had fought valiantly at Potter's side – wounded or not - the torture and death of her family, and the fact that she was a widow.

Severus drank the second glass of Barolo as fast as he had drunk the first, and poured a third, ignoring the delicious penne arrabiata on his plate and the warm hearth-baked loaf of bread, whose aroma was enticing but not what interested him at the moment.

Severus Snape was too busy brooding.

~o0o~


	2. Chapter 2

**Calling Card**

By Bambu

All disclaimers and author's notes may be found in Chapter One.

~o0o~

**Chapter Two: Puppetry (9-15)**

_In which Severus is stubborn and old memories surface. _

Morning dawned bright. Too bright.

Pain spiked through his skull as soon as he opened his eyes. Severus groaned and rolled over in his bed, dragging the sheets with him. His night had been restless and his head felt heavy and Confunded.

It was obviously the aftermath of drinking an entire bottle of wine and eating far too little to counteract its effects, he thought sourly. He fought with the rumpled covers until he freed his legs and perched on the edge of his bed for a moment, his head cradled in his hands, steeling his resolve to start the day.

Staggering somewhat on his way to his private bath, a luxury afforded all Hogwarts staff members, Severus was glad he routinely refreshed his stock of personal potions. This was the first opportunity to test his hangover elixir in quite some time. He knew, at least, that it would be efficacious, nonetheless.

Sucking down the entire contents of a small dark green vial, Severus stared at his sallow reflection in the mirror – one he had long ago hexed to prevent from making pitying remarks about his looks – and wondered what had possessed him to get drunk in the first place. It wasn't something he did often.

Splashing cold water on his face while the potion began to work, his mind cleared, and the events of the previous afternoon intruded once again. It was _her_fault. Granger. She had breached his wards and left him a 'gift.' Including a declaration of love for him, if she was to be believed. The assured woman who had graced his chambers the day before seemed capable of anything. She was so aggravating.

Severus had trouble reconciling his memories of the over-eager girl he had once known with the obviously highly competent woman he had met the night before.

Angry with himself for dwelling upon a witch whom he had fairly successfully dismissed from his mind for a decade, Severus found his robes and prepared for the day.

He groaned. It was September 1, 2011.

The students were due back at the castle today. It was one eternal constant in his life. Regardless of the day of week, if it was September First, the students would arrive at Hogwarts.

Oh, joy.

Walking through his sitting room, Severus glanced into the fireplace, certain that all would be ash. However, perched atop a pile of charcoal and soot was a small cedar box. Unblemished, unburned, and untarnished by the blazing fire of the night before.

Sodding, fucking hell!

He hated know-it-alls. Bushy-haired – erm, brown-haired – dark-eyed, annoying, insufferable know-it-alls. Especially when their exotic fragrance lingered in the air of his sitting room. He would have to get the house elves to fix that.

Severus snatched Granger's 'gift' from the fireplace and stalked to his table to eat breakfast. His hangover elixir had left him ravenous. While he munched his toast and inhaled his bangers and eggs, Severus took the time to examine the well-crafted, beautiful little piece of carved cedar. With one dexterous finger, he searched for a seam in the wood. None. With a quick wave of his wand he attempted the most obvious, "_Finite Incantatum." _Nothing changed, save a small luminous glow from the embedded sigil on the lid.

That the box was of fine quality craftsmanship and superbly charmed didn't surprise him in the least. Truthfully, he hadn't expected less of the Granger witch. She was, he admitted, extremely intelligent and had always been highly capable.

He grimaced to think that he was complimenting her, even in _absentia_.

_Revelato _garnered no success.

Ten minutes later, several other, more obscure, attempts at penetrating the warding on the small lump of wood produced the same negative results. The box's wards were impervious to straightforward means of disclosure. The perplexing representation of Granger's competence was like an itch, and Severus wanted to scratch it.

Refusing to give it more thought, and having no more time for idle speculation, Severus secreted the trinket in a pocket of his teaching robes. He would study its secrets during a free moment in his day. Patting his pocket, feeling the hard lump reassuringly hit his thigh, he left his rooms. It simply never occurred to the Potions Master to leave the puzzling box behind. Severus had always enjoyed a good puzzle.

The gift remained a puzzle.

During the course of his day, meetings, rounds, and duties, Severus attempted to open the box. And during the course of his unsuccessful trials, he deduced several things about Granger's gift. The most obvious was that it was well-crafted. Secondly, he determined the little box was impervious to the most blatant of revealing charms or methods of destruction.

By far the most interesting facet of the trinket was the fact that, among the other wards placed on the box, it appeared to have a distraction charm. No one, other than himself, could actually see the small block of cedar, despite the fact Severus placed it in plain sight during his meetings. He thought that, at the very least, its fragrance was noticeable. Severus could smell its scent even when it was hidden within the pocket of his robes.

At luncheon, he placed the small trinket on the High Table, leaned back in his chair, deep in thought, his long hair falling to either side of his face as he stroked his goatee. He awaited the unfailing nosiness of his colleagues to assert itself. He was disappointed. Neither Mesdames Hooch nor Pomfrey mentioned it, and Albus' eyes appeared to give the box a quick glance, but his sight seemed to skim past its location. It was decidedly odd. Neither Filius Flitwick nor Minerva McGonagall were at lunch, so Severus couldn't tell if they were immune to it or not.

The ex-spy was intrigued in spite of himself, and he found his thoughts straying to the box and its giver throughout the day.

Dinner proved as fruitless as lunch. Of course, most of the attention was given to the Welcoming Feast and the Sorting Hat's antics. The only real distraction of the evening was when Frank Longbottom, Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbot's son, was sorted into Slytherin.

Severus choked on his own spit, and Albus just turned highly amused eyes in the Potions Master's direction before twinkling at him. Wretched old wizard, Severus thought scathingly.

After settling his new students into their dormitories, and after a brief Beginning of Term meeting with the Slytherin House Prefects, Severus retired to his chambers. He breathed in deeply. The exotic perfume was gone. He discounted a vague sense of disappointment as he settled in for the evening.

Severus still had to reset the wards on his rooms, a precaution in case _she_decided to return. After an exhausting half hour in which he added three additional layers of wards, including the unlikely password of "Bushy-haired-know-it-all," Severus crawled under the fresh sheets on his bed.

That night he left the frustrating cedar box on his desk and dreamed about the final battle.

"_Duck, Hermione!"_

_Ron Weasley's voice screamed in Severus' ear, attempting to get to Hermione before she was hit with another hex. The young wizard hadn't reached her before the "Diffindo" sliced open her shoulder._

_Severus watched, mesmerized, heart thudding in his ears as, in a bizarre time-lagging fashion, Hermione Granger's blood sprayed the street and the wall of the nearest building. The impact of the curse from behind propelling her body's fluid in a bright crimson arc, sunlight glinting off the thick liquid, staining cobblestones and stucco._

_Weasley's shout of "Stupefy" toppled Hermione's assailant. _

_Hermione smiled grimly at Ron, nodded her head at Severus, and sealed her wound with a quick spell before wading once more into the fray. She made her way to the open intersection in front of Diagon Alley's Gringotts Bank._

_For a long moment, streaks of green and crimson hex-trails illuminated the slender figure of the young witch, luminescent aura highlighting the fierce concentration of her expression as she turned her head to look at him once more._

_Their eyes met. Brown to black, youth to experience, innocence to debauchery._

_Severus remained locked into her gaze for what felt like eternity. External noise and sights faded into a swirling, muddy, indistinct background. Irrationally, he didn't want to sever their connection. His heart clenched and his gut twisted with an unfamiliar feeling._

_Suddenly, motion began again as Hermione wrenched her head to the side and shouted, "Impedimenta," and then was gone from his sight. The Death Eater she had flung her spell at fell unceremoniously at his feet. From that moment, Severus was too busy fending off the attacks of his former brethren to wonder about her safety. He fought to reach the Boy Who Had to Win in order to add his own shielding to the others'._

_A surreal, colorful mist obscured his vision; he heard muffled shouts and screams of pain in the distance._

_His own nostrils flared with the coppery stink of fresh blood and the vaguely sulfuric smell of misfired hexes. And then, oddly telescoping to what really mattered, the scent of a floral perfume overrode everything else, until he could smell nothing except the fragrance, laced with sweat, fear, and a unique cleanliness that he associated with the witch who had been his most demanding and irritating student in all his years of teaching. The underlying spice of her natural scent filled his senses until the only thing he could focus upon was smell. Her smell. He breathed in great gulps, and in his mind, her youthful fragrance morphed into a slightly exotic blend of neroli and ylang ylang; nevertheless, the witch's scent replaced the foul odor of death and decay._

_When the air cleared before his mind's eye, mist and scent banished for the moment, Severus found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with the Gryffindor witch as she flicked her wand and shouted "Protego!"_

_A translucent bubble of shimmering protection surrounded not only her, but him and three others - a tight unit, central to the outcome of the wizarding world's most recent fight to the death._

_Severus felt the nubby texture of her robes where their bodies touched, as if it was skin-to-cloth. Anachronistically, it was the same silk she had worn in his chambers before leaving the cedar box, but she was wearing it here, during the last battle, two years after her graduation, not a decade later. As his blood pounded in his ears, Severus didn't want to move, to sever their physical connection which had assumed an importance he couldn't identify. The background once again faded into insignificance as he focused on the physical link between Hermione and him._

_Wrenching himself from his desire to remain transfixed by her touch, Severus added his not inconsiderable magical strength to her shield. Ginny Weasley, on the opposite side of the Hero of the Day, overlaid her own shield to the one Hermione had first cast. The amalgamation of shields created a pulsing, living entity, repelling any and all curses and hexes thrown at the tiny group consisting of Harry Potter and his most dedicated and loyal protectors._

_The three shield casters were sucked into the sinuous, protective bubble, hearts, minds, souls. Although he knew Ginny Weasley was in the gestalt, Severus could only discern one other being. Hermione. The thudding rhythm of their conjoined hearts comforted him amidst the maelstrom of battle. He could almost taste her, the flavor of her saliva, the pulse of blood through her veins, the purity of her soul._

_He didn't want it to end._

_All things come to an end._

_Brought back to the reality of battle, redheaded Ron Weasley protected the Boy Savior's back and their group surged, unscathed toward the malevolent, red-eyed thing, standing center stone in the street, directing Death Eaters in their frenzy to win._

_So great was the Dark Wizard's enmity toward the traitor at his breast - Severus - that he paid no attention to Potter._

"_Severus, you have betrayed your have stabbed your brothers in the back. Stand alone and be held accountable for your actions."_

_The sibilant, hissing voice was icy; one skeletal finger pointed in Severus' direction. A tingling sensation in his arm - negligible, if you didn't know what it was - threatened to distract Severus' attention from the shield. He ignored it._

_The vicious, once-human effigy stood swathed in black. His red eyes narrowed, focusing on the betrayer of his inner circle, a minion he had trusted, one who had practiced an effective deception for twenty-five years. Voldemort hissed and viciously grabbed Peter Pettigrew's left arm. The portly, balding, nervous Death Eater was never far from his master's a deliberately malicious grin, the Dark Lord poked his bony finger into the center of the tattoo on Wormtail's forearm. The sad little man screamed in pain. Voldemort grinned in vicious satisfaction, and then looked directly at his former Potions Master._

"_This is for you, Severus. From one betrayer to another, the kiss of death." _

_Red eyes stared in his direction._

_Severus' Dark Mark began to itch; great power forced through the link between the Mark on his arm and Pettigrew's. Severus breathed more rapidly, his heart beating faster._

_The evil being he had served, followed, and betrayed focused his ire upon Severus._

_For years, he had remained out of the harsh light of the Dark Lord's attention, to fly beneath Voldemort's searing glare. Surreptitious subterfuge had always been Severus' specialty. Being the focus of Voldemort's rage was utterly panic inducing, and Severus' attention wavered from the shield._

_And then, she altered his reality._

_With her free hand Hermione grabbed hold of Severus' arm, creating skin-to-skin contact. Her heart overrode the erratic beating of his own, slowing down his racing pulse, until his was again joined with hers. He calmed, became more focused, and maintaining the gestalt shielding. He sent his gratitude through the merge, and felt the warmth of Hermione's reaction._

_A cold scream of fury distracted Severus, and once again, his eyes turned to the blood red glare of his former master. Severus' breath caught in this throat, his pulse escalated as he realized the full breadth and scope of the phrase, 'if looks could kill.'_

_The Dark Lord shimmered as a palpable mass of power gathered around him. Air eddied and swirled as the currents reacted to Voldemort's power concentrated on the tall, lean figure of his traitorous Death Eater. Voldemort couldn't allow Severus to live, to stand there and taunt him, to show other faithful Death Eaters that resistance could be successful._

_Wand out, the former Tom Riddle gave up any pretense of paying attention to the battle surrounding him. He had a duplicitous traitor to swat. He pulled Pettigrew's arm to his chest; the little man collapsed at his feet, writhing and moaning in pain. Voldemort, his entire being focused on punishing Severus, stabbed his wand into the center of Pettigrew's Dark Mark, piercing the skin and causing the man's blood to drip freely onto the thirsty cobblestone street._

_Harsh, gasping sounds filled Severus' ears, and he realized it was himself. He was terrified._

_His palms slicked with sweat as he gripped his wand tighter. He had seen what Voldemort was capable of, and the idea that he was the pivotal point of the Dark Lord's considerable power sent Severus' heart rate skittering out of the dynamic rhythm of the shield merge._

_This was it, he thought._

_He was going to die._

_His concentration shattered. The shield no longer provided sufficient buffer between him and Voldemort's curse._

_Severus screamed in agony as his left forearm blazed in a crucible of pain. He struggled to maintain his support of the shields surrounding Potter and their little group. He attempted to fend off the punishment meted out through the ineradicable link to his former master. He did not doubt that he had reached the end._

_Severus dropped to his knees, losing his place in the merge, curling in upon himself, the searing, rending, agony in his forearm merely the point of origin for the burning of every nerve ending in his body. His muscles spasmed as they responded to the stimulus of inflicted pain. _

_Sound, smell, vision all began to blur… to fade._

_Oblivion called to him, narrowing his consciousness into the welcoming gray embrace, one he would never wake from. He was so tired; he had fought for so many years, but he could no longer keep the fierce burning in his body at bay. Death would be his reward._

_As if in a tunnel, Severus could hear Hermione's frantic pleading as she shouted at him, "Fight it, Professor. Don't let him win. He's a parasite! Fight him!"_

_Dimly, he felt fingers threading through his hair, a small hand cupping his head, the chill of her skin a healing balm to the charred agony of his scalp. He mentally attached himself to the feel of her hand, keeping death from taking him. Anchored in time and space to the here and now by the touch of a hand._

_Severus attempted to slow his heart, to slow the racing blood in his veins._

_He felt himself leaning against something. A leg, a thigh. Hermione's thigh. He could hear her chanting at him, "Don't give up! Don't die, Severus!" She panted raggedly in her effort to maintain her hold on the shield surrounding them, yet dividing her attention to help him._

_It was her voice that called him back, that urged him to find the last reserves of his willpower, his strength. He couldn't hear anything else._

_All extraneous stimuli faded into insignificance as the only thing in existence was his pain and her voice. Her voice refusing to let him go. His only reality narrowed to sound. The sound of Hermione Granger screaming his name. Somehow it was the most beautiful noise he had ever heard, and the cascade of emotions that it initiated couldn't be helped._

_The burst of feeling threatened to swamp him. Perhaps these were his dying moments. Perhaps these were the wizarding world's dying moments. If Potter didn't succeed, Voldemort would win._

_If Voldemort won, Severus' twenty-five years of suffering would be for nothing._

_He couldn't let that happen._

_He refused to let that happen._

_Damn it! The stupid girl needed to concentrate on keeping Potter safe. Safe, so the little wanker could rid the world of the foul excrescence of a wizard deriving so much pleasure from prolonging the agony in Severus' abused body._

_Suddenly, Severus was furious with Hermione._

_He used his rage as a catalyst. Shutting out her exhortations, and fighting back against the immeasurable pain, Severus Snape staggered to his feet. He ignored the fact he practically crawled up the witch's body to do so – although, for one brief moment he longed passionately, and with every fibre of his being, to latch onto her forever. He summoned every last ounce of free will and magical reserve he possessed, and Severus Snape once again melded his shield with the two young witches at his side._

"_Protego!" his stentorian voice rang across the field, and the remaining power at his command flooded into the shield protecting the elite phalanx surrounding Harry Potter._

_So effective was this additional surge of support that Voldemort's link to the Traitor was abruptly severed. It rocked the Dark Lord's focus. So intent had he been in his quest to obliterate his betraying servant that Voldemort was completely adrift for one crucial, decisive moment._

_And one moment was all that was necessary._

_Bolstered by the support of his closest friends and one steadfast Slytherin, Harry Potter eradicated the former Tom Riddle in the middle of Diagon Alley in one magnificent, incendiary ball of flames._

_Severus never saw the final moments of the battle or the 'Avada Kedavra' that struck Ginny Weasley down. Inky blackness had finally, inevitably found him, and the cobblestones rushed up to meet his face as he fell, unconscious._

_The last sound to grace his ears was the anguished, heart wrenching cry of Hermione's, "Professor!"_

Jolting upright in his bed, covered with sweat from the fear and anxiety his dream had recalled, Severus gasped and shuddered. Shakily raking his long fingers through his black hair, he attempted to regulate his breathing. His heart pounded and his blood raced through his veins. He hadn't dreamed about the final battle in years.

What cruel twist of fate could have wished to visit it upon him now?

He lay back on his bed, staring into the pitch black of his room. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness surrounding him as he allowed the weight of his subconscious meanderings to wash over him.

~o0o~


	3. Chapter 3

**Calling Card**

By Bambu

All disclaimers and author's notes may be found in Chapter One.

~o0o~

_**Chapter Three: Intrigued (16-26)**_

_In which the new school year begins and Severus is drawn to the puzzle Hermione left in spite of his intentions to the contrary._

The next day, Severus had to face an entirely new set of incoming first year students. This generation's Weasley twins, with their quarter-Veela blood, attracted an unwelcome amount of attention, and were a huge distraction.

Donning the mantle of his most-feared persona, Severus was forced to separate the three Weasley cousins from each other, strategically placing them around the potions classroom. In the decade following the fall of Voldemort, he had been able to make adjustments in his method of crowd control. No longer did he allow house affiliations to determine seating arrangements in his classes. Now, each table was a shared Gryffindor/Slytherin or Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff team. It had proved quite successful, and there were fewer hexes and outright rivalries.

None of his first years noticed the small cedar box which he placed prominently on his speaking podium.

He reasonably deduced that since everything in the castle was new and wondrous, the box wouldn't stand out to the youngest students. However by Thursday, still none of his students had noticed the little box. Not one single student within all four houses and spanning all seven years had divined the fact that there was an interesting nugget to be investigated within their range of sight.

It was an odd phenomenon.

Severus' teaching duties began to take up more and more of his time, but he continued to carry the little wooden box with him. He spent the odd minute here and there, attempting to ascertain its secrets. With inadequate time to devote to concentrated study, he was unsuccessful in breaching the outer wards on the puzzling box. The only reasonable conclusion he had drawn as a result of his attempts to dismantle the warding was there were no compulsions cast on the box, and there were multiple layers of protection requiring careful handling.

After two weeks, the small cedar receptacle began to assume a prominent placement on his desk, his work bench, the High Table, and his nightstand. Students and colleagues started to notice the Potions Master's occasional preoccupation, as they watched him fold his arms and drift off into a few moments of contemplation, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. His focal point was always the same apparently vacant spot on his desk or at the High Table.

In these moments of distraction, the reserved wizard appeared to trace some object, causing new rumors about the brooding black bat of the dungeons to take flight among the denizens of the castle. Severus remained unaware, for the most part, of the scrutiny paid to his increasingly frequent moments of inattention as he was wont to tactilely investigate every corner, every possible seam or imperfection in the grain of the cedar.

As intriguing as the box was, Severus' anger at Hermione simmered, ready to boil over if she returned. He carefully outlined scathing remarks to put the impudent witch in her place.

She didn't return.

Severus would scowl at the box, thinking of the brown-eyed chit, rocking the palm-sized trinket in his hands, epithets swirling in his brain. Bushy-haired swot. Know-it-all. Gryffindor Brain. Brilliant. Innovative.

When his thoughts turned complimentary, he would snort derisively, and put the box out of his reach. Invariably, and only moments later, he would pick it up once more. The raven-haired wizard found himself fascinated by the slight shift in weight. The puzzle the inner trinket represented was as enticing as a siren's song. Severus had to know what Hermione Granger had placed in the box. What had she given him?

By September 21, his simmering anger was overridden by rampant curiosity.

That evening, Minerva was coming to tea. It was something they did once a month; Albus felt it was helpful, and after the first five years of grumbling, Severus agreed.

Once they were settled in his sitting room, the fire crackling merrily upon the hearth, each nursing a cup of tea – Minerva's milky and sweet, his appropriately tart, with just a wedge of lemon - Severus removed the box from its awkward position within his robes and placed it atop his copy of _Moste Potente Potions_. Idly, Minerva's eyes followed his movements, and for the first time since the beginning of term, someone other than Severus saw the box.

"Oh, Severus, what a charming little box. When did you get it?"

He stared at her for a long beat, and then said, "It was a gift."

For some reason, he was hesitant to mention Hermione. Minerva's feelings might be hurt that she hadn't seen the witch during her visit. After all, Hermione had been and remained Minerva's favorite student. For all Severus knew, they kept up a steady correspondence.

"Really? What exquisite taste they have. May I?" Suiting action to request Minerva reached out to retrieve the little box for closer inspection.

With a loud, explosive _bang_ and a flash of bright golden light, Hogwarts' Deputy Headmistress was forcibly expelled from her chair. She landed in a heap on Severus' floor, several feet from where she had been sitting.

Severus leapt to his feet to assist her, hiding his irreverent grin. He couldn't help but think she had looked awfully funny hurtling across the room.

Sourly, Minerva picked herself up, assuming it had been a prank. She spoke sharply. "You could've warned me! That hurt!"

"Minerva! I had no idea it would do that. She didn't say anything about—" _Bollocks!_ he thought, acutely aware he had just given his most curious colleague a hint as to the identity of the gift giver. _Bloody hell!_ What had happened to his command of his tongue? In previous years, not even the Cruciatus Curse had been able to pry unwanted information from his lips. Perhaps, if he was lucky, Minerva would let it go.

He had never really been lucky.

"She?" Minerva raised an eyebrow in inquiry and glanced at the seemingly innocuous box. It was glowing; a misty, angry red radiating from every fibrous cell of offended cedar.

"Yes. She," Severus bit out. He was not forthcoming. This was his box, his present and his surprise. He didn't like to share. In fact, he loathed sharing and he wasn't going to share this. Unbeknownst to him, his hand hovered protectively over the lid of the little box, its shimmering red glare dimming slightly as his hand came within a foot of the rectangular enigma.

"She, who?" Despite her animagus form, Minerva was like an old terrier with a bone. She would worry Severus to death until he gave in. She hated not being in the know.

The similarity to another bright-eyed, annoyingly curious witch tugged on Severus' awareness. He scowled. Of course, if he gave her a small nibble, Minerva might let it go. At least for now.

"A former student, Minerva. It was by way of a thank you." That was all he was going to tell her.

But Minerva McGonagall knew her younger colleague, and knew just how and when to pry. All she needed was a lever. Thinking long and hard, her eyes fastened on Severus' evasive coal-black eyes, and she realized that keeping the secret was important to him. She was fond of her exasperating colleague, and so, preening a little at her self-restraint, Minerva refrained from asking Severus again. Besides, she also knew _who_ to pry for information. Perhaps Albus would know more.

Minerva watched the brooding younger wizard for his reaction as she refrained from asking any more questions, and once again, remembered why he had been such a good spy. He might be out of practice, but if he didn't want her to know, she wouldn't know.

Minerva decided to visit Albus later. Perhaps a new batch of Honeydukes chocolates would entice him to reveal what he knew about Severus' trinket.

Thinking of Albus and glancing at the clock, which was pointing to 'having tea,' Minerva remembered she had another task to complete that evening. "Severus, I really must go a little early tonight. I have to write to Miss Granger. Poor girl. I always send her a letter on this date."

Severus accepted her excuse gracefully, relieved that she hadn't pursued the subject of the box.

He was rather surprised by the coincidence of Minerva mentioning Hermione. The younger witch's name had never come up in their conversations before this – at least, not that he could recall. Although he had recently realized the majority of the staff who survived the Dark Lord's overthrow referred to Hermione Granger on a regular basis. Severus had simply never before noticed. Now that she was in his daily thoughts, he seemed to hear her name on everyone's lips with frequent regularity.

The general consensus of his colleagues was that Hermione Granger was an exceptional witch, representing a pinnacle of virtue and excellence which they wished all their students, and some of their colleagues, aspired to. Each time he heard the sentiment, Severus had snorted and replied bitingly, "She was a tolerable student. But like so many witches, the childhood promise has been left sadly wanting in the adult."

Predictably, Minerva and Filius would splutter in indignation, and Severus would stalk away, smirking, his hand reaching into his pocket where he would stroke the smooth wood of the little box he carried with him.

As he saw Minerva to the door, Severus wondered about the significance of the date. September 21.

He returned to the sitting room, crossing to his pacing spot, his brows creased as he stood lost in thought, staring at the malevolently glowing cedar box on the table.

He remembered. September 21, 2005 - Miss Granger's wedding day.

Why had Minerva said 'poor girl?' A wedding anniversary was generally a cause for celebration. Then the rest of the memory unraveled. Miss Granger was a widow. Severus wondered if she had been happy. Her voice reverberated in his mind _'…he died, and I learned about having my heart broken as an adult._' Yes, she had been happy. Something about that thought made him uncomfortable, and he scowled at the reminder of his former student and her happiness in contrast to the lack of it in his own life.

Picking up the little box, Severus smoothed his fingers across the embedded sigil; the red glow receded, revealing that the wood's sheen had become glossy over the course of the past few weeks. It had almost taken on the patina of well-used rosary beads, the oils of his skin bringing lustre to the cedar.

Severus wondered about the box's secrets.

He inhaled the richly aromatic fragrance of the wood, and with a whispered, "Hermione," he wondered if perhaps her name was the key.

He had taken to trying different passwords after exhausting other possibilities. Thus far he had unsuccessfully tried '_Gryffindor_,' '_Slytherin_' – grinning as he had said it - '_Dumbledore_,' '_McGonagal_l,' the names of all the Weasleys, _'Lupin'_, the names of her deceased parents, her ridiculous friends, even the name of her blasted cat. None had made the slightest difference.

And indeed, even her name, whispered then in his rooms, had no effect on the box. It glowed bright blue for a moment before remaining, as ever, impervious.

Severus Snape, however, felt a frisson of anticipation as the sound of _her_name hung in the air of his chambers for a brief moment until it thinned and dissipated, returning the aural focus to the crackling fire before which he paced. He sighed heavily, privately admitting that he was impressed by Hermione Granger's work. She had obviously achieved some degree of success within her field.

The fall term quickly passed, and the little box became Severus' constant companion around the castle; meals, classes, the library, even on his daily rounds.

Minerva wasted no time in passing on the tidbit of information that the Potions Master had been the recipient of a 'gift' from a former student. However, none of his colleagues had been able to coax any additional information from Severus, in spite of their desire or their earnest pleas. They all wanted to take a look, but it seemed that the only time anyone other than Severus was able to see the box at all was if they were in his chambers.

And no one else could safely touch it.

In fact, Severus found himself hosting every single member of the staff - long-time colleagues and ingénues - in his rooms over the course of two months. Even Hagrid found his amiable way to the dungeons for a chat. The half-giant's excuse was that he had thought the professor might like some of his fresh rock cakes.

Hagrid was tolerated and offered tea. Severus drank his own tea in record time, and then hustled his unwanted guest out the door like all the others, none the wiser.

The faculty had a stiff betting pool, determined by both date of the opening and the identity of the actual trinket held within the cedar box's chamber. The pool was up to several hundred Galleons by Halloween.

As is common in small communities, the information migrated.

Students speculated wildly about who could possibly ever have wanted to give the greasy git a present, although the fact that it was invisible leant a certain cachet to the little cretins' theories.

One evening, Severus maliciously enjoyed the shocked surprise on Sybil Trelawney's face when she was thrown across his sitting room. He had opened the door to the garrulous witch minutes previously, and she simply foisted her way into his rooms without so much as an invitation. She was never one to stand on ceremony.

"Oh, Severus," she had gushed, sweeping past him, her cloying scent causing his nostrils to flare in offended olfactory overload. "I felt the emanations from your little bauble all the way from my rooms. It's been calling to me. I keep hearing my name whispered through the corridors and I've consulted my inner eye. You know how sensitive my inner eye is. It told me today was the day your box would reveal its secrets to me. I feel so honored that it called to me."

Sybil neglected to mention the fact it was also the date for which she had laid thirty Galleons on the line in the betting pool.

Severus smirked at her owlish squint and merely waited for the inevitable to take place. While it was no longer a secret that he didn't know how to open his little gift, Severus did know enough about his former student to be certain _Sybil Trelawney_ would have nothing favorable to do with these particular wards. He recalled the open contempt Hermione had held for the Divination instructor. Her remembered disdain brought a small smile to his face as he prepared to watch his ditzy colleague make a fool of herself.

"Do come in, Sybil." The invitation was offered in Severus' most wry tone moments before the pretentious witch was thrown across his chambers.

By December, the little cedar box went with the Potions Master everywhere. He could be seen, lost in thought, examining it during quiet moments while students were brewing potions. It accompanied him to the village on Hogsmeade weekends, when he was in the library researching arcane ingredients, even to Quidditch matches.

Severus had long since acquired every book the Hogwarts library held relating to wards and their deconstruction, including several tomes from the Restricted Section. He had read enough of them to recognize the excellence of the warding schema placed on his possession, but not enough to be able to dismantle them. His anger at the witch who had cast the enchantments dissipated into a reluctant, but never voiced aloud, admiration.

As winter break neared it became customary to see the Potions Master lean back in his chair at the end of a meal, his long fingers tracing invisible edges, smoothing across the surface, caressing the engraved symbol of a box that none but he could see. The cedar's fragrance had become something of a pacifying and calming agent. When the youngest Weasleys' mischief threatened to get out of hand in class, Severus would remove the box from his robes, and stroking its surface, he would inhale the rich, aromatic scent of the cedar, his equanimity restored.

As the term had progressed, there had been fewer house points taken by the Potions Master than ever before. He could still be explosively angry, but his temper had lost its vindictive edge, and his students were no longer quite so terrified of him. Not a single student or staff member mentioned the changes in the taciturn wizard. Who, after all, wanted to question a gift horse?

If Severus noticed that Albus' eyes twinkling a little more effusively when he looked in his Potions Master's direction, Severus never mentioned it.

In a moment of weakness, Severus changed the password of his new personal wards to "Hermione." He had convinced himself it was the last password anyone would ever associate with him.

Severus looked forward to the winter break. He planned to devote a considerable amount of time to deconstructing the wards on his box, certain that now he would have the time he would be able to open his treasure.

However, by New Year's Eve, Severus Snape was a frustrated and rueful wizard.

He should have known that it wouldn't be so easy to penetrate such sophisticated charms. Hermione was, after all, a very resourceful witch. One who's Charms NEWTs had been the highest the school had seen in over a century. It would naturally follow that the little box would reflect her field of expertise.

Brooding in his rooms late in the afternoon of New Year's Eve, an unexpected visitor descended to the dungeons. A visitor bearing an invitation to a party. Blaise Zabini, former student, former Death Eater, former spy, knocked on Severus' door. Of all the Slytherin students in Harry Potter's year, Blaise had been clever and subtle enough to recognize the role of a Death Eater was not one he wanted to follow. He alone had stood out from his House peers. He hadn't wanted to be coerced by his mother's wishes, but knew he would have very little choice in the matter. On his eighteenth birthday, his mother had planned to present him to Voldemort, and she expected him to take the Dark Mark.

Not knowing where to turn, Blaise had approached Hermione Granger very late one night in the library. They had shared the majority of their classes, and he had respected her intelligence and her unwavering loyalty to Harry Potter. He had known she wasn't one to gossip or share information, and he carefully chose the time to approach her. They had been the last students in the library on a Friday night, and it was almost curfew.

Hermione had cast a silencing charm around them, listened to his story, surprised him with a smile, and promptly and directly, under cover of Harry's invisibility cloak, escorted the dark-haired Slytherin to Albus Dumbledore. Once in the large and oddly decorated office, Blaise had poured out his heart to the sympathetic and understanding Headmaster, and from that day forth, he became a spy for the Order of the Phoenix.

Blaise and Hermione had no opportunity to pursue the slender thread of friendship spun in the library. The war made them public enemies.

Following the final battle, there might've been a chance for a friendship to develop, but Hermione had left Britain so quickly, the opportunity was lost. Severus had been Blaise's 'handler,' and the two wizards developed a mentor/protégé relationship which deepened over time to the firm friendship that existed in the present day.

"So, Severus, will you come tonight? After all this time, you can't still be avoiding Harry."

"I plan to avoid Potter for the rest of my days, if possible. Blaise, I don't know how you can stand him."

"He's not as bad as he used to be, you know. He's grown up. Maybe it's being a father, or maybe it's being married to Luna that's done it." Blaise frowned as he scrutinized his mentor.

There was something significantly different about the older wizard.

He wore his normal black robes; his hair was less oily than usual – probably due to not having to stand over boiling cauldrons for five hours a day. Superficially, he seemed unchanged. However, having been trained to read people, Blaise turned his considerable powers of observation to his former professor. The deep lines furrowing his brow were smoother. It took a keen eye to notice that nested within the well-trimmed goatee, Severus' mouth was softened, relaxed, not its usual thin, pinched line. Blaise also noticed a few silver hairs in his mentor's goatee and smirked a little. If the Potions Master had any idea how becoming facial hair was on him, he would surely have cut it off.

Letting his mind drift, Blaise looked around the room, searching for any other clues to the change in Severus. He replayed the professor's last words in his mind and realized there had been no sting to them. No vitriol.

Shocked, he opened his mouth to ask Severus what had happened, when Blaise's eyes lit upon the small cedar box Severus held contemplatively between his hands, lightly running his fingers across its smooth surface.

Sitting upright, excitement coloring his voice, Blaise exclaimed, "That's a Mishima box! When did you get it, Severus?"

Severus sat up, as if _Imperio'ed _to attention.

His mind had wandered as the younger wizard chatted about his recent marriage to Lavender Brown. 'Pretty and passably intelligent' had been Severus' original assessment, and it hadn't changed since she was last his student. However, anything relating to his puzzle box was guaranteed to grab his interest, and his eyes pierced through his protégé's excitement, "What are you talking about, Blaise?"

"That box you're holding. It's the customized calling card of Mishima, Ltd. Very impressive, Severus. Mishima's incredibly difficult to contract; we hired them to rework the Estate's wards a couple of years ago, and we had been on the waiting list for three years before that. They rarely accept commissions within Britain. In fact, they have only begun to work in Europe recently, and you never meet their representatives. It's their policy; something about eliminating all possible avenues for reprisal. They're pricey and highly confidential, but worth every Galleon. Not a single Mishima client has ever been breached. You know how many threats I've had since the end of the war. Security's been a priority. So, what was in yours?"

"I beg your pardon?" Severus' voice was harsh, lacking his customary silken tone, even to his own ears. The Potions Master was feeling out of his depth, and he didn't like it. Not a single iota.

"Your box, what was in yours?" Blaise looked at Severus uncomprehendingly, and then the _'Lumos' _flickered in his brain. "You haven't opened it, have you? Why ever not? I hear the item in each box is highly personalized, different for each client. No one but the recipient can open the box."

By this time, Severus was understandably irked and a trifle embarrassed to admit that he hadn't been able to open the damned annoying little cedar box. "I wasn't given the code," he confessed grudgingly.

"No one is given the whole code at first, just pieces of it. Actually, it's a clever gimmick, each clue is tailored to the individual client. I understand it's a relatively new innovation. Are you sure it was meant for you? Bugger! Of course, it was meant for you. Mishima boxes don't manifest to anyone they're not intended for. That's how a client knows they've been found acceptable. When I found mine on the dining table, I was thrilled. It took me a week to open it. Inside was the most exquisite amber gazing ball. How they knew about Lavender's divination work, I'll never know."

For once in his life, Severus was glad Blaise Zabini had become such a talkative fellow. He doubted Blaise or his wife ever heard a word the other said, neither stemming the flow of conversation for something so mundane as to listen to the other. But the information his House's former student was imparting added to the little he knew about his treasure.

"May I see it?" Blaise asked.

"You may, however, I would suggest you don't attempt to touch it. It seems a bit selective. Actually, I have been the only one able to handle the thing without reprisal."

Blaise laughed. "It's definitely tailored to you, then. I can't imagine anyone touching you without your permission."

Severus smirked. He felt rather smug now that he held at least one piece to the puzzle. Hermione must work for Mishima, Ltd, which was perfectly consistent with the fact that she now lived in Japan, not to mention that she had hand delivered the 'example' of her work. Additionally, Blaise had said each box came with clues, tailored to the individual recipient. It occurred to him that Blaise had just given him another piece to the puzzle.

"I give you permission to pick up the box. If it is honestly tailored to me, then granting you permission should diffuse the defensive wards."

With some trepidation, Blaise noticed the gleam of humor in his mentor's eyes as the younger wizard reached toward the small cedar box. When he was able to pick it up, he grinned triumphantly. "Aha! It _was_made for you, you old sod! It's just as prickly as you are, too."

Severus chuckled, "I prefer to think of it as _being discriminating._"

As unsettling as it was to think that he was so predictable, the Potions Master couldn't help but be complimented Hermione had remembered so much about him. Even if he remained uncomfortable with the possibility she hadn't lied about her feelings for him, he was still gratified by the fact that she had known he would be amused to have such control over his trinket.

As Blaise got up to leave, accepting Severus' regrets for the evening, he noticed the hovering sigil over the actual carved mark in the lid of the box. "That's odd. There appear to be two different symbols here."

"What?! Show me." Severus was livid that he hadn't seen something so glaringly noticeable. As he lurched to retrieve his Mishima box from his former student, he realized that it was limned by two separate layers of color, which bled into one another to cast an overall orchid hue. The underlying glow of red had been overlapped by a vivid blue. Together, the two colors highlighted the shimmering, hovering sigil.

"_Accio_ quill, _Accio_ parchment!" Severus' commands were sharp and forceful.

As soon as he had quill and parchment in hand, he muttered "_Replicato,_" and allowed the quill to deftly reproduce the three-dimensional, hovering symbol.

Blaise fidgeted behind him, his excitement palpable in the quiet room. Even the fire seemed to understand the significance of the moment as it popped and crackled.

Narrowing his eyes on the symbol, Snape realized it was, in fact, two intertwined letters wrapped cleverly around the trunk of a tree. A part of his brain applauded the cleverness and wit of the witch who had thought of this.

Without the tree, the meaning of the two letters would have stumped him. But the tree was, in itself, a clue. Thus, with great concentration, he delicately flicked his wand and the letters unwrapped themselves from the tree's trunk to reveal the initial letters of the Afrikaans loan word for tree (boom) and snake (slang). Boomslang. The essential ingredient in Polyjuice Potion.

Throwing back his head, Severus laughed until his eyes teared. He had always thought it was Potter who stole from his warded supplies cabinet during the brat's second year. Now, he knew better. He should have known better then. Potter had never had half the intelligence of Hermione Granger.

"What is it, Severus? What's so funny?" Blaise itched with curiosity.

"My thanks, Blaise. It seems that this clue was waiting for me to 'share' my toy. Clever, clever witch."

The last was said so quietly that Blaise was unsure he had heard it. He had also never heard that degree of approbation from his mentor. Ever. "Well, are you going to open it?"

"If I can. However, considering that I haven't been able to open it in three months, it stands to reason the game has not yet reached the end stages. But you may stay if you like – if you will keep quiet."

Showing that he had earned his high NEWT scores, Blaise immediately perched on the armchair he had vacated several moments before, without a word passing his lips.

Severus nodded approvingly and, directing his wand at the little Mishima box, he swished and said, "Boomslang."

The box glowed a brighter purple, but nothing else occurred.

"Boomslang skin."

Again the bright purple glow.

"Polyjuice Potion."

Absolutely no response from the box. The Potions Master, on the other hand, began to pace.

Blaise quietly watched his friend, knowing the older wizard's patience was running out, and would figuratively bite his head off if he spoke. But, he had an idea. "Severus…" he began.

"I said you had to be quiet."

"I have a thought that might help."

"Well?" Impatience underlined the deep baritone query.

"I take it you know the person who gave the box to you?" At Severus' sharp glance, Blaise continued, "I may dither a bit now that I can, but there's nothing wrong with my hearing or my brain. You said, _'clever, clever witch._' If you know who gave it to you, then I would think the password might be more cryptic."

"Obviously." Frustration at his own underestimation of the witch who had gifted him with so fascinating a puzzle gave more bite to the retort than Severus had perhaps intended. But his mind was elsewhere, deep in thought.

The tall Potions Master resumed his pacing, scowl firmly in place, brow furrowed. It wasn't difficult for him to recall Hermione Granger's entire history as a student at Hogwarts. After all, she had been on his mind for the past three months, and he had culled his memories of her public history, as well as every detail and nuance of their more personal interactions. Some of the memories were sharply painful, while others left him nostalgic for the fleeting moments of shared intellectual zeal, or the breathtaking poignancy of her assistance during the final battle.

Searching for the path of remembrance that the clue recalled, Severus' mind immediately sought the memory of the Gryffindor's second year, when Hermione had missed a rather large number of classes. Ironically, her absence had not resulted in the slightest blip on her academic record, even though she had spent an inordinate amount of time in the hospital wing that year, first as the byproduct of a Polyjuice accident, and secondly, when she was petrified as a result of the opening of the Chamber of Secrets.

Blaise kept quiet, his sparkling indigo eyes tracking the still-graceful wizard pacing in front of the roaring fire. He had forgotten how unconsciously elegant the former spy's movements could be. Blaise knew better than to interrupt Severus' train of thought at this moment. He simply relaxed in the comfortable leather chair, and enjoyed the aroma of the fire and the remnants of their tea.

"Ah. Of course. Careless of me to think her superficial." Severus' voice had taken on a slightly softer, almost affectionate, timbre.

Across the room, Blaise bit his tongue to keep from asking just who his mentor was thinking of. He had never heard that particular tone in Severus' voice before, and even now, as he scrutinized the older wizard, the silver-flecked goatee hid the softened line of his mouth. Blaise rather thought that Severus was smiling. It was altogether a most unprecedented evening.

Abruptly, the raven-haired Potions Master ceased his pacing, and once again swished his wand at the enticing box of cedar, "Basilisk."

The shimmering, luminous outer layer of vivid blue expanded until it surrounded the cedar box by a width of a full three inches in diameter. Suddenly, multiple layers of charms and magical ley lines became visible in a rainbow of variegated colors, and then, with a fluted, four-note musical scale echoing throughout the suite, the outer layer of protection dissipated into nothingness.

The box remained closed.

However, now there was only a layer of red illumination surrounding it. The other colors they saw so briefly had vanished with the outer layer.

Severus recognized the angry red glow from times that someone other than he had attempted to hold the box. Peering at his trinket on the table, he looked at the carved sigil, which appeared to be crisply etched on the wooden lid. It was a heraldic symbol: a circle surrounding a three-leaved flower, balanced on a stem.

He had never seen it before, but Blaise had. "Wow, Severus, you do rate. That's the Mishima _family_ crest._Who_ gave this thing to you?"

Severus felt a small bubble of pleasure and satisfaction - hoarding information was a vestigial habit of his days as a spy - still he wasn't divulging the giver of the gift just yet.

"It was nice of you to come by, Blaise, but do you not have a party to host?"

"Oh, no! You're not getting rid of me that easily. I helped you. You have to tell me."

"I will—" Severus smirked, "—just not yet."

"Severus!" Blaise knew it was a lost cause.

"Blaise! I will tell you in my own good time, and today is not a good time."

Good naturedly, but still grousing, Blaise accepted the decree. Shaking his mentor's hand warmly, he bid Severus a Happy New Year, followed by a sharp admonition that Severus knew where to find him whenever he wanted assistance with the box.

His indigo eyes shone happily as he departed, Blaise thought about the story he would have to tell Lavender when he got home.

As soon as the door shut behind Blaise, Severus crossed the room to pick up his treasure.

The red light dimmed and vanished. The moment the box's red ward disappeared, a woman's voice filled the room, "Happy New Year, Severus." It was Hermione's voice, and Severus smiled in response. She was a clever chit, indeed.

That night he slept well, and if he dreamed of an elegant, brown-haired, brown-eyed woman, with the enticing fragrance of ylang ylang and neroli, he wouldn't tell.

~o0o~


	4. Chapter 4

**Calling Card**

By Bambu

All disclaimers and author's notes may be found in Chapter One.

~o0o~

_**Chapter Four: Solutions (27-35)**_

_In which Severus has some success and some failure. There is some light lemonade in this chapter. _

Confidently expecting the remainder of the wards to reveal themselves and be as easy to subvert as the outer layer, Severus was deeply disappointed when the little box remained as impervious as ever. By mid-January, after the winter term had commenced, the reviled and most hated professor at Hogwarts had made his appearance once again.

Students fled as Severus stalked the halls of Hogwarts, taking points as frequently as he drew breath. Even Miss Flint, the Fourth Year Ravenclaw, who cherished a bit of a crush on her Potions professor, fled in fear of his acid tongue. Her fancy had died a quick and painful death, having been given a taste of the rough side of Severus' tongue one afternoon in Potions when she answered one question too many. Her resemblance to a bushy-haired know-it-all had been too much for the professor's temper. After class, she pronounced to her fellow Ravenclaws that, indeed, no witch could ever love the Potions Master.

His exploits over the next couple of weeks sent his popularity plummeting lower than it had ever been.

"Ten points, Miss Finch-Fletchley, you are out after curfew. It is a shame we do not have your Head of House teach a _remedial_ course in telling time."

And again, as a migraine threatened to override any remaining patience, Severus caught the Weasley cousins sneaking into the kitchens and starting a food fight with the Ravenclaws who were already conducting their own midnight raid. "Messrs. Weasley, Miss Weasley, I expected nothing better from your fathers' children, but I had hoped, obviously a mistake on my part, that perhaps your mothers' influence might have curbed the Weasley predilection for rule-breaking. Twenty-five points from Gryffindor. Each."

The worst, however, was his combined Slytherin/Gryffindor First Year's Potions class. "Mr. Longbottom, I regret that this is a required class for even those students with your gross incompetence. I am certain you will be relieved to know that if you continue as you have begun, in another five years you will have surpassed even your father's dubious accomplishment of melting more cauldrons than any other student in the history of this institution. As much as it pains me, ten points from Slytherin."

The practices and habits of decades cannot be easily erased by one heartfelt gesture of goodwill, no matter how intriguingly wrapped. In his perceived state of vulnerability after New Year's Day, Severus concluded that he had grown soft. Soft and insipid.

Hermione Granger, the little chit of a witch, had undoubtedly meant to torment him by ridiculing him in front of his peers and his students by presenting him with an unbreakably warded box. All his former delight in the puzzle the box represented was subsumed by his frustration, anger, and perceived humiliation.

He was done being a puppet.

On a bitterly cold night at the end of January, Severus stalked to the top of the Astronomy Tower, balefully glared at the annoying cedar box, and with several harsh words, he flung it from the top of the tower, hoping to cast the damned gift from its height and pulverize the rootlets of affection for its creator that had begun deep in Severus' heart.

"Insufferable… insolent… irritating… stupid little girl! How dare she? Ridiculous waste of my time!"

Refusing to see whether the box had been shattered by its long fall, he descended from the high tower at a furious pace, stormed through the castle to his own quarters, where he changed the password on his wards to 'bushy-haired bint,' and proceeded to drink himself into a stupor. He was livid with himself, with Hermione, with the situation, and especially with his inability to figure out the puzzle she had given him.

Severus Snape had one long-standing vanity: he was used to being more intelligent than most people around him. One of the reasons he tolerated Albus, Minerva, and Filius Flitwick to such an extent was the fact that they were as intelligent as he. He found their conversation bracing and interesting. The fact that a former student, regardless of how promising, had stumped him had hewn a serious chink in his intellectual armor.

As Severus fell into a firewhiskey-induced slumber, he assiduously ignored his conscience, which told him that, if he simply asked Hermione, she might tell him the password.

Waking the next morning was painful and rather embarrassing.

He was nauseated, had a headache and his spine was stiff and sore from sleeping in his chair. His clothing was rumpled, and he smelled of stale firewhiskey and the previous day's sweat. He felt old. Barely in his fifties, he had already lived a harder and more wearying life than wizards twice his age. Pinching the bridge of his nose and groaning, Severus opened his bleary eyes, only to see, perched atop his pile of books on the coffee table, his small cedar box.

Unbroken and undamaged.

It mocked him. She mocked him. The whole effing castle mocked him.

"ARGH! Bloody, sodding, hell! Get out of my life, you vicious little witch!"

Severus struggled to his feet, in a frenzy, looking for his wand. He was going to blast the taunting little cedar rectangle into splinters and use it for kindling.

He scooped up his fourteen-inch ebony wand, feeling its familiar grooves slip into his accustomed grip, his other hand unconsciously patting his pocket in what had become a habit. It was empty. Its normal occupant lay atop a pile of books, waiting to be blasted to bits.

Unnerved, he recognized the degree to which the little box had become his personal talisman of comfort over the past several months.

Shocked into immobility, Severus practically fell back into his chair, dropping his wand into his lap as he hung his throbbing head in his hands. How low had he sunk? What had he become? How could this have happened? What had Hermione done to him? Where was she? What was happening to him?

Groaning, he looked at the little box, his left hand itching to hold it, to feel its smooth wood in his fingers. He refused to succumb to the inclination, the accustomed pattern, the need.

Unbidden, the little box began to glow an iridescent, emerald green, pulsing and heating the surrounding space. Severus could feel it from his chair. When the box was so bright that it hurt to look at it, Hermione's voice echoed through his chambers in a lecturing, teasing tone.

"Each Mishima box is individually crafted, revealing its clues in conjunction with the recipient's need and interest. Or in your case, Severus, it's attuned to your impatience. I gave you all the clues you need to open the box when we spoke in August. All you have to do is to remember them, and you'll have the answers."

The emerald light faded as her message sounded in the hollow chill of his rooms, until, with her final word, it winked out, leaving the little box, once again quiescent.

Galvanized by her message, Severus was not willing to be out-thought, outdone, outmaneuvered by a thirty-one year old witch, no matter how intelligent and innovative.

He stiffly made his way to his bath and downed the last vial of hangover elixir. He would have to add it to the list of potions he needed to restock.

Severus folded his long body into his tub, reveling in the hot, bay rum scented water. As his muscles began to relax, and he stretched to his full length, letting the elixir take effect, Severus resolutely turned his memory to the last time he saw Hermione Granger. What had she said that last day of summer? What clue had she left that would give him the ability to open the bloody box?

She had given him a list of dates. Significant dates according to her. Surely it couldn't be that simple. There was no correlation between those dates and the events surrounding the box, other than when Minerva had been thrown from her chair. A small smirk played at the corner of Severus' mouth at the memory of Minerva picking herself up from his floor.

No, the dates weren't it.

What else had she said?

As his headache and nausea receded, it was easier to think. Severus had always enjoyed letting his mind wander while in the bath; he had often been at his most creative when submerged to his chin in aromatic, steaming water.

"_I appreciate your giving me a few minutes of your time today. I know you're busy. I've followed your recent research and read your published articles. It's been heartening to know that your career has flourished."_

Her voice was so clear in his mind, that for a moment, he thought the box had followed him through his chambers and was once again, playing a recorded message. It hadn't. For some reason, one he wasn't willing to dwell upon, Hermione's words from that last day of August remained clear and concise in his head. What was important about this last bit?

Realization ignited his brain, as combustible as _Incendio._

Sitting up so quickly water sloshed onto the stone floor, Severus knew what the clue was.

He knew.

It was so blindingly clear he couldn't believe it hadn't occurred to him before. He had centered his thoughts on_her _strength – charms - and not his own. The box had been tailored to suit _him,_ his forte.

Potions.

Damnation! What a complete and utter git he had been not to have realized before. Blaise had told him that each box was clued for its owner. Hermione had made this box for him.

Roused once more into action, Severus hastened to dress. He retrieved the box from his sitting room, reveling in the feel of the wooden talisman once more at home in his hand. He made his way to the small, private laboratory he had called his own for two decades. Quickly making his way across the room, Hogwarts' Potions Master waved his hand, wandlessly igniting the torches lighting the room.

The notes and receipt from his most successful variant were still on the blackboard, which comprised almost the entirety of the back wall. His revealing potion. Tasteless, odorless, and almost undetectable.

"_I've followed your recent research and read your published articles."_

Her words rang in his head. This was what she was talking about.

A number of Death Eaters had escaped from the final battle and attempted to hide across Britain and the Continent. Taking a hint from the famous wizard writer, and like his purloined letter, they had hid in plain sight. Aurors had found it incredibly difficult to identify the former Death Eaters because they had taken to wearing glamours - some more effectively than others - to disguise themselves as they crafted new identities.

Severus had been instrumental in identifying many of the escapees. As a member of the Dark Lord's inner circle, he had been privy to the identities of the new recruits, a fact which had caused him no end of heartache when he realized the majority of Slytherin's students had elected to take the Dark Mark upon their eighteenth birthdays. Choice, parental directive, or peer pressure hadn't mattered in the end.

All but five of the graduating Slytherin Class of 1998 died in the skirmishes leading up to and during the final battle. Two of the remaining five were in Azkaban. Blaise Zabini, because of his undercover work for the Order had been immediately pardoned, Draco Malfoy, because of his family's vast fortune and influence, had been placed under house arrest in an outward attempt to show the public a 'reformed' Death Eater. And the last, Pansy Parkinson, a young witch with no choice in the matter of taking the disfiguring mark, had gone underground.

A week after Voldemort's defeat at the hands of the then twenty-one year old Potter, Severus had begun to craft his revealing potion. He had named the potion after his Roman ancestors who founded the small village of Snape in Yorkshire. None of the non-magical population of three-hundred-fifty had any idea Snape Manor was built on the site of the family's original Roman villa.

It had taken Severus four years to perfect his revealing draught, and upon completion, the Compromettere Potion had first been put in the hands of the Order of the Phoenix, and then the Aurors.

It functioned exactly as intended, and six years ago, Bill Weasley, under the guise of a new customer, had visited Madam Rose's to unmask the missing Pansy Parkinson. She had been passing herself off as the proprietress of Knockturn Alley's most lucrative brothel.

With her arrest, the last unveiled Death Eater had been taken into custody. Nott, Dolohov and Mulciber had been captured the previous year, all with the use of the Compromettere Potion at a dinner party Mulciber had hosted at his retreat in Tuscany. Nymphadora Tonks had attended the party in the guise of the wife of the local mayor. Her Metamorphmagus form had been unaffected by the Compromettere Potion; she had been able to add half a vial of the tasteless liquid to the wine served with dinner, and call in reinforcements as soon as the glamours evaporated.

The Ministry of Magic finally retracted the confidentiality clause eighteen months ago, and Severus had been elated to learn that he would be able to publish his findings and research. The previous spring, _Alchemist's Monthly_ had published his findings. It had been one of the most satisfying moments of his career. No longer hampered by his work as a spy, Severus had finally been able to pursue his chosen field of research.

Basking for a brief moment in remembered success, Severus glanced around the small lab. Two walls of shelves housed his ingredients and bottled potions, categorized first by toxicity and usage, then perishability, and finally, alphabetically within each subcategory. A third wall was covered by the chalkboard and sink, and the final wall housed his work table. It ran the length of the twenty-foot room, and was a five-inch thick oak plank.

His affinity for wood had led Severus to choose it over a granite surface, and its fire resistant quality had made oak his choice. Over the years, its durability had been a boon. When the lab was in use, Severus cleaned the table magically and manually. He would _"Evanesco" _remnants of corrosive or magical detritus first before pouring scalding water on the oaken surface. The boiling water raised any remaining impurities from the grain of the wood. Taking fine grit sandpaper, Severus would spend up to half an hour removing any imperfections from the tabletop. The results met both his standards of cleanliness and the artist's need in his soul. He loved to run his hands along the surface, feeling the satin-smooth texture of the finely grained wood.

Scanning the stores of his completed potions, Severus knew that he had a few Compromettere bottles left on the shelves. But somehow, he wanted to make a fresh batch for the box. It would take two weeks.

Now that he had a course of action, he could wait. He knew how to be a patient man. After all, he had waited two decades to defeat the Dark Lord. Pushing up his sleeves, no longer bothered by the faded Dark Mark marring his left forearm, he set to work.

That night, he dreamed of Hermione again, only this time he remembered it in the morning. In that curious state of semi-awareness, before his body fully awakened, Severus felt the stirrings of arousal. Instinctively, courting the remnants of the sensual images he been slumbering in the arms of, he did not want to wake from the heady eroticism. He had dreamt of a nude and passionate Hermione.

_Mithras' Horns_! She was captivating in the throes of pleasure.

_Out of the faded charcoal mist of his mind's eye, Severus conjured the image of her naked body sprawled across his black silk sheets. Her fair skin clearly limned by the dark background, accentuated her pale breasts with their dusky areolas and her waist nipping in before rounding out into womanly hips which gave way to lean, toned legs. Legs that were spread far enough to draw his attention to the apex of her thighs, a tantalizing delicacy with its protective coat of glistening, damp, chestnut curls._

_Gazing at her mouth, her tongue traced along her full, bottom lip, and Severus felt desire race through him with the speed of a Firebolt 2010. His erection twitched in response. He could hear the throbbing of his heart in a tremendous pulsating beat, similar to Taiko drums, hammering against his ribs with the escalation of his need._

_Nothing beyond the bed and Hermione existed for him._

_Severus breathed raggedly as he looked upon the woman spread across his sheets. Hermione's unbound hair covered the pillows, curling tendrils bewitchingly enticing. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with desire and sleep, and she reached for him, almost purring his name, "Severus."_

_He was on her in an instant._

_Years' worth of pent up, unacknowledged attraction had built to an unendurable need on his part. The surge of desire burned in his groin as his erection pulsed in reaction to her nearness, to the exotic mingled scent of her fragrance and her arousal._

_Severus had to have her, now. _

_Quickly moving to the welcoming cradle of her legs, he leaned on one elbow, covering her body with his, feeling the satin of her skin against his. Nothing had ever felt this good, this right. His entire existence narrowed to this experience._

_Time slowed and his movements were like a paddle through treacle._

_Trailing his fingers along the arm she wrapped in his hair, he felt the gooseflesh rise upon her skin as with tormenting languor he forged a path to her breasts. His erection throbbed with urgency as he rocked gently against her, begging for entrance, even as his fingers circled, tugged, and rolled her nipple, causing instant pebbling._

_Hermione arched her back, thrusting her chest at him, gasping for breath._

_Severus didn't wait another second. With one swift thrust, he sheathed himself into her tight, welcoming depths._

A low groan broke into his half-dream. Severus woke fully to discover the groan was his own, and the illusion of her tight depths was, humiliatingly, his own hand. He was too far gone to stop, and within a short few strokes, Severus climaxed, his release explosive, yet entirely unsatisfying.

Growling at his fantasy, the Potions Master grabbed his wand and cleaned himself before beginning his day. The elation of the previous evening was dampened slightly by the creeping understanding that something had changed irrevocably in terms of how he thought about Hermione Granger, although perhaps not changed so much as finally recognized.

However much he might wish to return to ignorance, Severus' current course was determined. He had to know what was in the box. Nothing else seemed as vital as brewing the Compromettere and discovering what trinket Hermione had thought most appropriate for him.

The following two weeks passed slowly for Severus. Everyone else in the castle was relieved he seemed to have discarded the resurrected evil 'bat of the dungeons' persona in favor of the brooding, but on the whole, more congenial wizard they had grown accustomed to. His students no longer quaked in fear, and Poppy Pomfrey had gone so far as to wish him a Happy Valentine's Day at breakfast.

Severus had been so busy that morning, adding the final ingredient to the Compromettere that he had forgotten the date. He had measured five grains of powdered Hellebore carefully. The toxic substance was rendered safe in combination with the other ingredients of the potion, and its benefits were unquestioned. The addition of Hellebore rendered the glamour visible. Once it was added, the potion changed color from a crystal blue to a much darker gray, and after simmering for a further fifteen hours and eight counter-revolutions of a hand-blown glass spoon every four, the potion would be complete.

In his single-minded purpose, Severus ignored the increasing frivolity during the day. Even the Headmaster's cloying cheerfulness hadn't fazed him when he entered the Great Hall at dinner. For tonight was the night he would use the Compromettere on his gift. Seated at the High Table, Severus sneered at the pink, heart-shaped confection on his dessert plate. It was another example of his tolerance that he didn't drop it on the floor or throw it at Albus.

Severus had always loathed Valentine's Day. It only served to remind him of the fact that he was alone. However, this year, his thoughts were turned to the clever, sparkling brown-eyed witch who had given him a most admirable puzzle to solve. She lurked in his subconscious during every waking moment, not to mention increasingly as the star of his dreams.

Pushing his plate to the side, Severus removed his box from his pocket, and leaning on his elbows, the Potions Master let his fingers caress the wood, listening to the slight thud of the metal inside as he tilted it to and fro. Just two more hours until he would be free of his _in loco parentis_ obligations for the evening.

While the majority of the students danced in the Great Hall, Severus took his accustomed path through the rose garden, rousting snogging couples as he went. In contrast to years past, he issued warnings and deletion of house points. Yet, at the end of his tour of duty, no rose bushes had been blasted and he had not assigned a single detention with Argus Filch.

Instead, as soon as his rounds were completed, he hurried to his private lab, eager to see what his little treasure would reveal.

At his warded entry, Severus muttered his new password, "Clever girl," and entered. Shedding cloak and teaching robes as he went, he rolled up his sleeves and entered his lab. The copper cauldron simmered gently on a low flame, and the potion within had turned its final color. None. It was completely clear.

With deliberate motions, Severus subdued the magical flame, and readied vials for the cooled and decanted potion. An hour later, he bottled the Compromettere, half to be consigned to Albus and half to the Ministry. The Ministry paid handsomely for his work, and he had begun a personal nest egg, entirely separate from the entailed Snape Estate funds, which were barely enough to maintain the uninhabited manor. The nest egg had grown to a sizeable amount after several years' compound interest and periodic deposits.

After setting aside five vials for his personal use, the bottling was complete and his efforts were boxed for delivery. Methodically, Severus cleaned his work bench. If his heart beat faster in anticipation of the experiment to come, he pretended it was a result of a little physical exertion.

At ten minutes to midnight, all was in readiness.

Severus placed the cedar box on his work table, adrenaline racing through his veins. His palms were slightly sweaty. It had been five-and-a-half months since he came into possession of the trinket, and today, he felt certain its secrets would be revealed.

Taking a low-volume pipette, Severus sucked five milliliters of Compromettere from its dark blue vial. He then held the glass tool center symbol over the Mishima box, and drop-by-drop, emptied the pipette onto the sigil.

Within seconds multiple layers of previously invisible wards surrounding the palm-sized box were illuminated clearly and distinctly. Their colors ringed the color wheel, each layer separated by some form of magical ley line.

Severus was momentarily stunned by the thoroughness of Hermione's work.

Quickly summoning parchment and quill, he jotted down notes, his scientific mind preparing for the orderly dismantling of the wards. He itemized the layers and catalogued several: chartreuse, red, gold, cerulean, lavender, and indigo, including the estimation of their widths. Suddenly, a silver sheen saturated the outer chartreuse layer, rendering it inactive and inert. The ley lines beneath it disappeared, and the silver mist began to corrupt the red layer as well, subsuming the ward within its wake.

Something like panic roiled in Severus' gut.

Was the potion contra-indicated?

Vividly colored layers of wards melted and merged into one another, ley line bands narrowing until only a few remained between the outer perimeter wards and the actual wooden box.

Severus crossed his lab, almost at a dead run, to grab the antidote. What if the Compromettere damaged his box, his gift, his link to Hermione? His heart wrenched painfully at the thought that his memento might be destroyed.

When the mercurial silver sheen penetrated and dissolved the external layers until only three remained, Severus opened the ante-Compromettere. He decided it would be better never to know what was inside rather than to destroy it completely. However, almost in conjunction with his thought, the ravenous silver component halted its destruction and sealed the remaining wards in place.

As had happened twice before, Hermione's voice filled the lab.

"A superb piece of work, Severus, my compliments. You have every right to be proud of the Compromettere. Your dedication and level of creative application is merely one facet that makes you so very appealing." Her voice took on a teasing note. "Nevertheless, did you think I would make it so easy for you? Tsk, tsk! You still have all the information you need to break the final wards. Happy Valentine's Day."

Her voice faded along with the enveloping silver layer of protection around the small box, leaving a very relieved and slightly befuddled Potions Master staring at her work.

His box had been saved.

Hermione had congratulated him and wished him a Happy Valentine's Day. She thought he was appealing. She had teased him and offered him a challenge.

An unfamiliar emotion suffused him, similar to what he had once felt for Narcissa, but yet so very different. Severus wished fervently that he could have seen Hermione's face as her words were spoken. He wanted to ask her about her wards and her work. How had she set up the timed vocal responses?

Gods! He wanted to see her, to talk with her, to spend time with her. What had the little witch done to him?

Utterly bemused, Severus pocketed his box, patting its familiar form distorting the pocket of his robes, and returned to his quarters.

He automatically undressed, placing wand and box in their customary places upon his night stand before slipping beneath the covers of his large bed, pulling up the heavy comforter. With a wave of his hand, he snuffed the torches ringing his room. He closed his eyes, hoping to find her in his dreams, to wish her a Happy Valentine's Day.

With a small smile on his lips, Severus dropped off to sleep.

~o0o~


	5. Chapter 5

**Calling Card**

By Bambu

All disclaimers and author's notes may be found in Chapter One.

~o0o~

_**Chapter Five: Erosion (35-46)**_

_In which Hermione gets under Severus' skin. There are definitely lemons here._

The following morning at breakfast Severus set his cedar box on the High Table as had become his custom over the past several months. This time, however, it was clearly visible to the naked eye of _any_who looked its direction, not merely if they were in private with Severus.

A small gasp came from Severus' right-hand tablemate. Filius Flitwick's wide-eyed gaze fastened upon the puzzle box. He whipped his wand from his tailored robes before performing a complicated symphony of diagnostic charms. "Extraordinary wards, Severus. They've altered significantly since I first saw them in your chambers. I have been making inquiries about your puzzle. It seems that this box is the exclusive calling card of—"

"Mishima, Ltd. Yes, Filius, I am keenly aware of the box's origins."

Severus had not foreseen the sustained level of curiosity on the part of his colleagues. In fact, he had heard nothing about the betting pool since the holidays, and remained unaware the pot hovered at a thousand galleons. The pot was to be divided equally between the winner guessing the reveal date and the winner guessing the contents of the box.

Studiously ignoring the imploring gaze of the diminutive and wriggling Charms professor, the Potions Master looked around the hall only to find over half the students and the entire faculty eyeing his treasure with some level of fascination.

"But Severus, it isn't just their calling card. Each box is tailored individually to the recipient." Filius continued in his squeaky voice, almost breathless in his eagerness to impart his information. "It takes quite a bit of knowledge of each client for the wards to be crafted. That's why Mishima is so highly respected in the field. The old man was utterly brilliant. I met him in Kamakura in the early 40's. He was the most remarkably innovative charms Master I've ever had the honor to meet. His family's home is lovely, especially in cherry blossom season. It's nestled high in the mountains overlooking the ocean, and the city is a charming blend of old world and new. It reminds me a bit of Hogsmeade."

Severus allowed Filius' rambling travelogue about rural Japan to wash over him while surreptitiously examining the reactions of his other colleagues and the more astute students. Albus' attention was fixed upon the box with sharp-eyed interest, as was Minerva's. As far as the students, several of the Seventh Year Ravenclaws were talking quietly while furtively glancing at him. The Weasley twins' discussion with their cousin was more animated while Frank Longbottom pointed wildly at Severus' small treasure from the Slytherin table. None of the Hufflepuffs looked his way.

Filius continued to wax lyrical about his two trips to Japan, and Severus' patience wore thin. He had other things to do. Pocketing his box, noting the avid stares of a number of students, not to mention Filius' almost covetous expression, the Potions Master swept from the Great Hall.

He expected to be put to a thorough interrogation by his colleagues at the very least, but none was forthcoming. Relieved to be wrong, the following two weeks were utterly devoid of questions and insinuations about his box, and Severus was left to his own devices.

As the winter term passed, his days were filled with teaching and the practical application of the theories he had read to deactivate the box's wards. His evenings were filled with marking essays and patrolling the school, and his sleep was full of dreams of Hermione.

He dreamed of her every night.

From teasing to titillating, Severus frequently awoke more sexually aroused than he had been for a number of years. After a week of increasingly erotic dreams, Severus knew he had to do something.

He had to open that thrice-cursed box.

Still, he was a Slytherin and he was Severus Snape. He would be damned before seeking assistance or contacting the haunting little chit until he had succeeded.

Hermione's message had stated that he had all the clues necessary to remove the wards protecting the box and its contents. If only he could recall with clarity her words from last summer. He prided himself that his recall was excellent. That ability had saved his life more than once during his tenure as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. Now with all the fantastical and erotic images his mind continued to conjure, Severus had difficulty discerning the germ from the chaff.

In desperation, Severus resorted to using his Pensieve. Its last use had been during his painful break up with Narcissa Malfoy. That was the time he had ever consigned a pleasant memory to the stone basin's depths.

Smothering a wry chuckle at the comparison between the two women who rated individual additions to his Pensieve, he decided there was, in fact, no comparison. One was leprechaun's gold, the gilt disappearing over time to vanish into nothingness, while the other was solid and worth banking upon.

Severus retrieved the ungainly receptacle from his closet and returned to his sitting room. Making himself comfortable in his overstuffed chair, he prepared to retrieve the memories of Hermione he needed to review. Reclining slightly, he used his ebony wand to remove several slender strands of writhing silvery substance from his temple, and added them to the swirling maelstrom of memories contained within the stone bowl.

Following the inclusion of his memories, Severus took several steadying breaths, smoothing his fingers over the carved runes around the lip of the bowl. Viewing memories in his Pensieve had never been comfortable, possibly because there were so many wretched memories to choose from. Yet, day-to-day living was easier without the continual bombardment of his excruciating past bludgeoning his mind.

Severus wallowed hard and calculated the number of personally mortifying and terrifying moments held so passively in the cold stone receptacle.

Giving the molten liquid a stir with his wand, the motion of the memory strands was obscurely calming. Then, deftly removing the ebony length without any strands of memory clinging to it, Severus watched until the most recent additions swirled around the surface. Taking a deep breath, his gut clenched, and he dipped his head forward past the glassy surface. He ignored the familiar pull as he fell into the memory he had chosen. August 31. The day Hermione gave him the cedar box.

While it was the memory he expected, it was also more. He had inadvertently linked together a memory and a dream of Hermione.

Severus stood next to his mirrored self in the memory.

Pensieved memories always seemed so crisp, so real. He recognized the affronted anger and disbelief etched on the face of his memory self, banked into a mask of indifference. As both simulacrum and voyeur watched the retrieved recollection play itself out, the youthful, elegantly-clad witch rose from his old and well-worn leather couch, and crossed the room, listing the dates which fulfilled his 'assignment'.

_Hermione reached his desk and ran her slender hands across the smooth wood, carefully placing his cedar box on its surface._

Half of Severus' mind catalogued and memorized the dates she recited, the other half of his mind greedily took in her appearance. At some point during the past few months, she had become his aesthetic ideal. The expertly coiffed, wild, honeyed tresses, wisps of tendrils framing her face, the smattering of freckles across her pert nose, and her full and promising mouth were all lovely. But to Severus, it was the forthright expression of intelligent interest that sparkled in Hermione's brown eyes which set her apart from other witches.

The sharpness of Severus' longing impelled him to step forward to touch the image of her, briefly forgetting that he was merely a bystander and she was not his to touch.

His other self flared his nostrils as Hermione crossed to the door, and Severus fervently wished he could smell her unique fragrance. He regretted banishing her scent with a sharp ache in his chest, but the Pensieved fragments couldn't retrieve scent, only sound and vivid pictorial evidence of things that once were.

"_Oh, yes. One final significant date in my curriculum vitae. Yesterday, August 30, 2011. I realized that the greatest irony of my life, Severus, is the fact that I still love you. As an adult. I know it's not requited, nor are my feelings anything but repellant to you. I've suffered a broken heart more than once. At least I know the remedy. Time and distance. I wish you well, Professor. I hope you find some joy."_

A frisson of recognition wrapped around his soul and squeezed. She had been in love with him in August. More than six months ago. Severus hadn't believed her then; it was blatantly obvious from the sneer upon his face.

He had been waiting for the trick, for the joke.

He hardly believed her now. She had said it a decade before, then again months before. Listening to her say it in this private niche, his heart knew. She had told him the truth. It was an exquisitely painful revelation. And it was then, before the memory faded to nothingness, his wish fulfillment surged into being; tempering, altering, reinventing.

Hermione did not, as she had in real life, walk out the door. And Severus, the voyeur, watched as his dream sequence played out, desire tightening his groin as his idealized-self realized his subconscious yearnings.

_Gryffindor to the end, Hermione turned to face him one last time. Her hand wrapped around the doorknob, heart in her eyes, she almost whispered, "Severus? Is there truly no hope for us?"_

_Severus Snape, aloof, oft-reviled professor, took two long steps to her side, his speed causing his robes to flare in a gust of black. He stood well within her personal space, and Hermione looked up at him, longing darkening her eyes from bittersweet chocolate to glittering, liquid obsidian._

_The tall wizard raised his hands, cupping her face as he dipped his head to catch the sigh escaping her lips. His mouth sucked in her breath as if it was his own, and he lightly brushed his lips across hers._

_Almost unbidden, Hermione's hands found their way to the solid wall of his chest, where they rested briefly, porcelain against ebony. Light and dark, day and night. Two halves of a whole. Without a word, Hermione leaned into Severus' taller form. One of her hands strayed to gently stroke the goatee surrounding his expressive mouth. No shy, retiring schoolgirl this; Hermione was a woman grown. She leaned into him, deepening the kiss as her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to her. A tiny breathless moan escaped her mouth._

Both Severus' reacted to the sound. Severus, the voyeur, breathed raggedly, doggedly holding onto the shreds of his control. His trousers were uncomfortably tight, almost painful. There was no real need for him to remain in the Pensieve. He knew how the dream sequence ended, but, for the life of him, he couldn't - wouldn't - step out of it now. This was so much more vivid than a blurred, foggy morning recollection. Anticipation made his mouth dry, sped his heart rate, and his blood thrummed in his veins.

He would never do this again, but this once, he would watch and allow himself to believe that perhaps, in some reality, he deserved to 'get the girl.' Without rational thought, he stepped closer to the entwined couple.

_Severus released Hermione's face and wrapped his large hands around her upper arms, pulling her against him tightly. She was pliant, and her body seemed to meld with his, until the only differentiation between them was the vivid color of her scarlet silk blouse._ _He crushed his lips to hers, tasting her, taking her in a savage plundering of the sweetness she offered. And then, wrenching himself from her mouth, Severus buried his face in her suddenly unbound hair, groaning in his fierce need._

_Hermione's hands were moving, fingers flying in a frenzied urgency, unbuttoning his collar, his modified gambeson, a subtle black-on-black brocade, the fine linen shirt underneath, hurrying to get to her goal: his skin. Contact shock arced between their bodies, sparking their passion. Arching, Hermione threw her head back, her hair undulating in a tumultuous cascade from crown to hips, revealing her long neck, offered in supplication to her lover's impassioned assault. In counterbalance to her upper body, Hermione raised one silk-sheathed leg to wrap around Severus' upper thigh, joining their bodies at the hips. She was the very picture of wanton desire._

Almost unknowingly, Severus, the bystander, grazed his palm across the cloth prison of his confined arousal. As the friction of his instinctive caress stimulated his increasingly hard erection, he groaned, his piercing black eyes riveted to the scene immediately before him.

As the guttural sound was ripped from his throat, his doppelganger, too, groaned in concert. Need threatened to burst from the restrictions of thread and material, as one of Severus' most heated dreams played out exclusively for him, pulling him closer, until he was within arm's reach of the object of his desire. Envy for his other self seared through his chest as he watched.

_Severus' elegant, dexterous hands sought purchase and leverage. One hand insinuated its way into Hermione's hair, cradling her head in his palm, angling it for ease of access to her kiss-bruised lips. He bent to take full advantage of the bounty offered for his, and her, pleasure and slightly diverted his trajectory. Severus' face buried itself in the lee of her throat, the glossy dark hair of his goatee raising goosebumps on her porcelain skin as he nipped and licked his way up to her mouth._

_His other hand skimmed Hermione's body; its path from her jaw, trailing incandescent desire down the satin skin of her exposed throat, lightly brushing across the hardening crest of her breast, still covered by vivid spider silk. Severus' wandering hand circled her waist to find its way over the roundness of her hip until his long fingers wrapped around her upper thigh, pulling her closer, cinching her tightly to him. He ground his sheathed erection against her clothed hips._

_Her whimper was answered by a raggedly-voiced, "mine," as their hips rocked in the oldest rhythm known to man and wizarding kind. But it wasn't enough. One delicate hand threaded through the baby fine, raven silk that many called greasy, only to grab a handful and pull him back, breaking their kiss._

_Hermione gasped, 'Now,' and releasing Severus' hair, she groped in her robes for her wand. In one swift flick and a slightly breathless, "Intectus," they were both naked._

Passive voyeurism was insufficient, and Severus found himself moving closer to the entwined couple, so close he could see the movement of his doppelganger's hair as Hermione gasped in the throes of her passion.

Severus' eyes raked over the smooth satin of her skin, the lush bounty of her breasts, the flush of arousal tinting her neck and cheeks. His breathing grew ragged and his throat dry as he held onto the last vestiges of his rational mind, and fervently wished that it was he and not his ersatz self who was—

—_almost growling at the feel of Hermione's heated skin and writhing body against his. Severus' erection surged against the contact of the tight, protective curls of her pubis._

_A distant clatter of wand and stone sounded as Hermione attended to more immediate needs. Both hands grabbed onto his broad shoulders and she pulled herself against him, rubbing her neglected breasts against the scattering of his dark pectoral hair, relishing in the friction._

_Severus bit Hermione's lower lip, tugging her mouth back for his attention. Their tongues met, teasing, promising, and delivering an intensity of passion soon to be met by the rest of their bodies. In an almost seamless move, one which belied the newness of the maneuver, Severus' hands glided to her buttocks and hefted her upward, and as she wrapped her legs around his waist, he settled her onto his hardened shaft._

_Tiny, encouraging cries filled the room while Hermione wriggled, rocking her body against Severus as he plunged into her, simultaneously kissing her with equal ferocity._

_With one staggered step, Hermione's back was to the wall, giving more purchase for the Potions Master's thrusts. One of his hands worked itself free from its support position to encircle one exposed and needy breast. Agile fingers tugged and teased the tightly furled peak until Hermione's whimpers reached a crescendo, and then she came undone in his arms, his name reverberating from the walls._

_The conflagration of their consummation was like an incendiary potion, all subdued fire until the final ingredient was added, and then the fireball scorched everything._

Severus never knew at what point he freed himself from the painful stricture of his trousers, but when Hermione climaxed, he was so close to her he imagined the feel of her constricting around him.

It was too much, and his shuddering release immediately followed hers. The force of his orgasm staggered him, and he widened his stance so as not to fall. He continued to stroke himself, prolonging his climax almost to the point of pain, staring at his double's hips thrust erratically to culmination. He groaned as he saw the stiffening tension of his memory self's orgasm, envied the sated and relaxed expressions of the couple.

The next dreamlike moment was one which had never before been clear; it was always lost by impending awakening, unremembered, and now never to be forgotten.

_Hermione's eyes sparkled with feeling and she ran her fingers delicately across Severus' cheek, brushing his sweaty hair from his face. Leaning forward the fraction of an inch needed, she kissed him. It was loving and filled with her heart's pledge._

Severus was so overcome by the emotional intensity of the gesture that he forgot himself, reaching for her with one hand, to wrap a stray curl of her hair around his fingers.

His hand touched nothing.

She wasn't real. It was a dream, a fantasy.

Anguish ripped his heart as harsh reality settled into his brain. He watched the final moment of the passion play and it left its mortal wound in Severus' soul. With agonized eyes he watched his mirror image.

_Doppelganger Severus knew where the real man did not when to accept a gift freely offered. The disheveled and sated Potions Master drew her gently back into his arms, holding her tightly to him, never wanting to let her go._

Severus couldn't breathe; his throat was so painfully tight.

He abruptly terminated the session.

Pulling back to the reality of his chambers, his brain seethed in a mass of turmoil. Livid with himself for watching, for the need to watch, and consumed with envy at the ultimate tenderness of his dream self. At that moment, Severus realized he had truly participated, _á mano_, while his simulacrum had coupled with _his_ witch. It wasn't some surreal Pensieve-induced mental participation. He was a mess, physically and emotionally.

Picking up his wand, Severus cast a cleansing spell - his entire set of robes would need to go to the house elves. The moment of release had been indescribable, but the elation had lasted only seconds, replaced with self-loathing. Despondently, Severus retreated to his bath, uttering self-castigating epithets about wishes, beggars and kings.

The next two weeks saw a return of the remote and isolated Potions Master haunting Hogwarts. He was almost paler than the Bloody Baron, who for the first time in a decade had made himself scarce from the dungeons. Filius and Minerva shared looks over meals when their younger colleague actually stirred himself to attend. All inquiries as to his health were answered with an indifferent response.

He wasn't vicious to his students, in fact, he seemed almost as if he were 'a Polyjuiced replica, devoid of the personality.'

The evening Minerva made that joking comment to him, Severus turned dull, umbral eyes to her and said, "The Polyjuiced version wouldn't have been so lacking in perspicacity." He had then abruptly excused himself from the meal, citing essays to mark, and left the Great Hall.

Initially, Minerva had been vaguely amused by her colleague's melodramatic moodiness, but now, her friendly concern turned to alarm. As she watched Severus' billowing black robes depart the hall, she realized that she hadn't seen his precious cedar box. In fact, she couldn't recall seeing in it since Severus had begun to act so oddly.

After Filius had announced to the staff that the box was a Mishima, Ltd., Minerva had written to Hermione to confirm its authenticity. Hermione's response had been that, while client confidentiality prevented her from revealing any information, even to her first mentor, the box in Severus' possession was indeed legitimate. Minerva knew nothing more. It was driving her spare.

As soon as dinner was over, the Deputy Headmistress followed Albus to his office and accosted him. One-hundred-and-fifty-plus years of experience and wisdom were not a match for eighty years of tenacious Scottish stubbornness, and the Headmaster almost quailed before Minerva's outburst.

"Albus, you _know_what is going on with Severus. You know everything that takes place in this castle. This isn't acceptable. I've never seen him like this. You must fix it."

She turned her worried hazel eyes toward the elder wizard. He had been her friend and mentor for forty years, and she'd rarely been truly angry with him, but her ire flared to life at the evidence of the amused twinkle in his crystal blue eyes.

"This isn't funny, old man!" she snapped. "I'm worried about him."

"Minerva, calm yourself. Please, sit down. Sherbet lemon?" Albus recognized an eruption in the making, curtailing his pleasantries and any attempt to divert her from the topic foremost in her mind. "I cannot 'fix this,' as you put it. I only suspect what is happening, I do not _know_. Minerva, the only one who can fix it is Severus."

"Isn't there anything we can do to help him? I can't stand to see him like this. This is worse than the last days of the war. Albus, have you looked into his eyes?"

"Yes, my dear, I have. I'm not truly worried… yet." Albus held up a hand when it looked as if his colleague was about to erupt once again. "No, Minerva, this is something Severus has to figure out on his own. We cannot interfere."

She snorted in disbelief. When had Albus Dumbledore _not_ interfered?

"Is it that damned box? I know it's authentic. Hermione confirmed it, but gave me no further information. Client confidentiality. Pish." Minerva sneered in a manner that would have drawn a chuckle from Severus. Her mind rapidly jumped to the wrong conclusion. "It's cursed him. Someone sent him a cursed box. You know how many enemies Severus has made. I'll get Bill Weasley. He's the best curse-breaker we know. Albus, how could you have waited so long?"

Rising to her feet to find parchment and quill, Minerva was halted by Albus' comment.

"It's not the box that's the problem, my dear. Please believe me. I think that it's a combination of this time of year, and some unresolved personal issues that our Potions Master is facing."

"The 'time of year,' Albus, whatever do you mean? He's never been like this—" she trailed off as the significance of the 'time of year' became clear.

Every year since the fall of Voldemort, the Ministry of Magic hosted a banquet to honor the recipients of the Order of Merlin, First Class. For all his personal sacrifices and years of living precariously perched on the edge of discovery, for being instrumental in the downfall of the Dark Lord, Severus Snape had been granted the medal that Cornelius Fudge begrudged him. The former Minister of Magic, ably replaced five years ago by Amos Diggory, had gotten in the last blow of the war by awarding Severus Snape a Second Class medal.

After the initial presentation ceremony, where Harry Potter, the remaining Weasleys, Hermione Granger, and even Blaise Zabini were honored with First Class medallions, Severus' dreams of public recognition for his years of service were dashed.

He had retreated to his chambers for a week-long binge of Old Ogden's Firewhiskey, after which he emerged from his solitude never to discuss his descent into despair. Each year, as the annual banquet approached, he sulked for a day or two, and his associates granted him privacy in a show of silent support. This year's banquet was the following week, and coincidentally, the day before Severus' birthday.

Still, Minerva didn't think it was quite enough to have sent the man spiraling into the depths in which he seemed to be wallowing.

"Albus, this change can't be the banquet. He's never been this bad since that first year."

"No, my dear. I think perhaps the timing is merely coincidental. I think our Potions Master is having a little difficulty reconciling a misconception. We cannot interfere, Minerva. I realize that you're worried, but you must give him time."

Reluctantly, his Deputy Headmistress conceded the point and returned to her chambers, to pace in front of her fire, wondering if she could refrain from meddling.

Deep in the dungeons, Severus Snape was brooding.

He, too, paced in front of his fireplace, firewhiskey in hand as he drank and thought. His brain worked in a circular pattern of self-castigation and grief. The little cedar box, once something he had carried with amused affection, was left strictly alone, perched atop the unread pile of books on the coffee table.

He would be shocked to realize how often his eyes strayed to its familiar angles, the well-loved patina of the wood. Each time his eyes settled on the Mishima family symbol, the constricting band of pain surrounding his heart tightened. The innocent little box taunted him - tormenting his mind with images of a life he didn't deserve and had come to realize, too late, that he wanted badly.

He had thrown it away. Rather, he had thrown _her_out of his rooms when she had come to him with her heart and her gift in her hands.

Sudden anger threatened to consume him, and he hurled his glass into the fireplace, storming out of the sitting room and into his cold, lonely bedroom. Apprehensive that he might repeat his performance with the Pensieve, if only to relive his fevered imaginings of Hermione's naked body, and revulsion that he had stooped so low as to be a voyeur to his own fantasy, Severus grabbed the vial of Dreamless Sleep that he had begun to keep at his bedside. He quickly downed the appropriate dose.

There would be no sweet dreams tonight.

This pattern continued through the following week, students and peers gave him wide berth. It was as if he radiated a chill equal to those of the castle's ghostly community.

Minerva watched her younger colleague like a feline with only one kitten. He was so sunk in misery he had no idea she watched his every move, directing Winky to make certain he ate.

Severus didn't even wonder at the oddly-timed appearance of dishes in his rooms, late at night or in the early hours of a new day. Some days he ate, others he couldn't stomach the thought of food. His forlorn heart ached with every breath he took, and he began to look unkempt, truly the greasy git of his own legend. His eyes hollowed, sunken in his skull. He slept only under the influence of potions, and his heart hurt.

Only once before in his life had Severus felt this wretched. It surprised him to realize it wasn't when he had broken his engagement to Narcissa.

Ironically, it took having his 'heart broken as an adult' - words he had callously thrown at Hermione - to consign his infantile infatuation with Narcissa Black to its rightful place among the superficial memories of his arrested development.

The only other time in his life his future appeared as bleak as now was the morning after he had participated in his first Death Eater raid. Dutifully, Severus had followed along at Lucius Malfoy's heels, panting like the well-trained hound he had been. He had only borne the Dark Mark for a week, when a large raiding party of seasoned Death Eaters led the novices on a training mission to a Muggle estate. Severus had mistakenly thought they were going to engage in Muggle-baiting, with appropriately Obliviated memories as a parting gift.

Contrary to his expectations, and in the manner of feral pack animals, the Death Eaters had tortured and killed the family and servants, wreaking havoc within the large manor house. Severus had enjoyed the Muggle-baiting, but he could not bring himself to participate in the deaths. Something had constrained him, a personal distaste, perhaps a rebelling against the violent legacy of his father.

His reason for joining the Dark Lord had been more personal, rather than the result of blind bigotry.

Dawn's first rays of light had filtered into the large, baronial drawing room where Severus had been blasting tapestries hanging from the walls, ignorant to the beauty and home-like quality of the room. Two of the family, the most senior couple, had been slaughtered in front of the enormous fireplace by Malfoy and Avery. Their blood pooled and coagulated where the man and woman had laid, eyes open and unseeing.

A beam of light had shone through the newly paneless windows and onto the one thing that had altered Severus' reality: even in death, the elder couple had clung to each other, their hands linked, fingers entwined as their hearts had ceased beating. They had loved each other. At that time, it was a concept so alien to Severus' frame of reference, he almost couldn't comprehend the evidence of his own eyes.

Severus had wanted to sneer, but something had held his arrogant condescension at bay.

The small, relatively insignificant act of real devotion was certainly something he had never seen in his own home. That physical manifestation of something so indefinable as love had stopped him cold. That it was Muggles who had exhibited such an idealized concept proved to be the catalyst for a life-altering decision. Severus' painfully lonely soul had cried out at his willful participation in the tarnishing of something so rare, so precious.

Rodolphus Lestrange, as the most senior Death Eater, had ordered each of the novices to Apparate directly home, in order to avoid suspicion in the light of day. He had uttered "_Morsmordre_," casting the lurid green mark into the sky, and had left an instant later.

Severus had spent the next thirty-six hours sitting in his dingy flat - the only thing he had been able to afford as an Apothecary's assistant, since his pride kept him from using Snape family money - staring at his wand.

He remembered the thrill he felt when he had used his wand to make the Muggles cavort at his whim. It had seemed harmless fun – at first – until Lucius and Avery had wielded their wands as weapons. The results had been bloody and horrific.

Seated in his flat, Severus had perched on the edge of his narrow bed and refused to touch the slender ebony rod that could wield such destruction in so cavalier a manner. He had vacillated between killing himself and turning himself in to the Ministry. In what he would later believe was a moment of divine inspiration, Severus had Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts and flung himself at Albus Dumbledore's feet.

Albus had granted him sanctuary and the ability to seek restitution for his soul.

And now, thirty-two years later, Severus found himself wishing with every fibre of his being that he could once again find absolution from Albus Dumbledore. But it was not possible. There was only one avenue of redemption this time, and Severus firmly believed that he had by his own obtuse inability to see a Thestral after having witnessed death, essentially set an unbreakable _Colloportus_ to the door of Hermione's heart.

It was with this firmly entrenched belief that Severus sat at his dining table, his forehead pressed to the smooth wood, an open fifth of Old Ogden's to his left, and his right hand wrapped around a large crystal glass filled with the fiery substance that would numb his heartache, if only he could drink enough. Not only was his heart rent asunder from his own shortsightedness, but it was also the evening of the Ministry's Banquet of Honor.

Every year, Severus dreaded this evening. It wasn't that he begrudged the other recipients their celebration or their recognition, even Harry Bloody Potter had deserved the Order of Merlin, First Class. It was that he had been passed over for the award. He had spent better than twenty years dancing on the precipice between discovery and deliverance, only to have the Ministry backhand him with the Second Class medal, as if his contribution had no merit, no honor.

This year was different.

This year was infinitely more painful, because if he had been granted the award he had so rightly and painfully earned, Severus might have had an opportunity to see Hermione at the Banquet. As the recipient of an Order of Merlin, First Class, she was one of the most notable invitees. He had never known whether she attended, he never read the Daily Prophet's coverage of the event, and now the opportunity to discover if she might be present was lost to him.

Thus, the stringy-haired wizard was seated at his small dining table in the dungeons of Hogwarts, drowning his heartache and his sorrows. A pounding at his door interrupted his solitary descent into melancholy, and he begrudged any moment of distraction. He ignored the sound, and poured himself another hefty shot.

The pounding grew louder, and the possibility that it was a student needing assistance intruded on his increasingly hazy thoughts. Although he wasn't on duty that evening, something requiring his assistance might have happened. The ingrained habits of twenty-five years guided his strides to his entry, and he flung the door open, to the entirely unexpected sight of a formally clad Blaise Zabini, a fifth of Old Ogden's firmly in hand, leaning against the door frame.

"What are you doing here? You have a Banquet to attend." Severus had meant to be snide, but instead his words were slightly slurred, having already consumed the better part of his own fifth.

"I'm not going. I've decided to boycott these events until you have your medal. They're boring, and while it was quite exciting the first few years, when I let you prod me into going, I'm not going if you're not. Lavender's at home, some sort of 'witches night in,' and I decided to come join you in your annual binge." The tall, curly-haired wizard crossed Severus' threshold, navy dress robes billowing nicely in his wake, and folded his tall frame comfortably into one of Severus' chairs.

In the face of his protégé's determination, Severus quirked his first smile in weeks. He closed the door, crossing to his customary chair. Together, with minimal conversation, the two ex-spies companionably drank themselves into a stupor.

By midnight, Severus was snoring, his head dropped to his chest, his empty glass tumbling to the floor.

Blaise wasn't nearly as drunk as he had let Severus believe. He_Mobilicorpused_ his mentor into his bedroom, and onto the large bed.

When Minerva had owled him the day before, he agreed to forego the incredibly boring honor banquet in favor of spending the time with Severus. He thought her concern was misplaced, evidence of her over-protectiveness, and hadn't really believed her assessment of Severus' mental condition. After all, Blaise had seen the wizard at the beginning of the year when Severus was more relaxed and at peace than Blaise had ever seen him. But tonight, seeing the tall wizard haggard and ill-kempt had shocked Blaise. He was intensely pleased that he had come, and was more than happy to keep Severus company.

He flicked a duvet to cover his friend and quickly set things to rights in the sitting room. Then then Blaise departed, planning to stop by Minerva's chambers before Floo'ing home. He wanted to know more about what was ailing his mentor.

While Minerva catalogued the list of symptoms that Severus displayed to her sympathetic listener, the object of her concern was sleeping without the aid of Dreamless Sleep for the first night in weeks.

~o0o~


	6. Chapter 6

**Calling Card**

By Bambu

All disclaimers and author's notes may be found in Chapter One.

~o0o~

_**Chapter Six: Epiphany (46-56)**_

_In which Severus figures it out._

When the first pale glimpse of light relieved the utter black of night in the dungeons, Severus bolted upright. He had heard Hermione's voice whispering in his head.

"_I still love you. As an adult… I hope you find some joy."_

He cast about in the darkened room for any sign of her. There was none. It had been another dream. "Bollocks!" he snarled.

The room was frigid, and he was still clad in his robes from the night before, although covered by his spare duvet.

The surge of adrenaline that accompanied his first jolt of awakening sped his heart rate and overrode the symptoms of his hangover briefly. With the first flush of reality replacing his dream-like state, he was all too aware of his pounding head and sour stomach. He groaned and reclined against his pillows, pulling up the duvet that he assumed Blaise had thought to cover him with the previous night, thinking that this was becoming a too frequent occurrence.

His head throbbed as his hangover hit with the impact of a Goyle-driven Bludger. Driven by some deep-seated need, Severus staggered into his sitting room, where the fire had burnt to embers. The room was chilled, dark and shadowed, and all that remained of the earlier cheery blaze was an orange tint, which gave off just enough light to navigate by.

With ungainly movements, Hogwarts' most graceful wizard sprawled into his familiar, time-worn armchair. In the dim light, his eyes sought the small cedar box that had become his talisman over the past several months, and had been neglected for the past few weeks. His hand reached out to grab it. He had missed its oddly comforting weight. Closing his eyes, he allowed his hands to re-familiarize themselves with the smooth exterior, lightly tracing the Mishima family sigil cut into the lid of the box.

His mind ignored the dull throbbing from his over-indulgence and cast about at random, seeking some stray intriguing idea to focus on. His thoughts recalled snippets of phrases

"_March 21, 2001, I realized that I was in love with you."_

That had been three months before the final defeat of the Dark Lord. His thoughts were scathing. Why had he been so reticent to believe that she was telling the truth? Why had he shelved her declaration through all the long years since she had left? Why had he blindly pursued Narcissa after the final battle, when his heart had been touched by another? Had it been so unpalatable to believe infatuation had led him to the soul-killing path of the Death Eater? Where had his courage to face harsh realities gone?

Used to decades of practice lurking in the shadows, ferreting out information with subterfuge and subtlety, Severus had found the internal fortitude to stand tall and face his former master at the final battle. He _had_ found his courage.

With Hermione at his side_. _

Gods above, how blind had he been?

Why had he ignored the brilliant young witch, only to adhere to a false ideal like a parasite on a host? Was it a need to prove everything he had desired wasn't corrupt? That day he heard Draco and Narcissa talking, any hope of realizing his childish fantasy had died in his breast. After that any other hopes he might have held for happiness were inconceivable. He simply couldn't believe a witch with as much to offer as Hermione Granger could truly want him; his bruised pride and ego hadn't allowed him to take the chance.

"_I still love you."_

Those had been almost her last words in August. She still loved him. He had ignored her then. Now, he didn't believe those feelings were possible after his treatment of her in his office. If she was sincere, perhaps she had never stopped caring for him.

Had she buried her feelings as deeply as he had hidden any for her?

With each constricted, painful heartbeat, the truth could no longer be ignored. Severus had buried any and all conflicted thoughts for the young witch, until the gift of the cedar box. Hermione had applied the thin end of the wedge, and like all good wedges, it found an opening, exposing his hidden and unrecognized dreams.

In not facing the truth, he had been a coward.

Browbeaten as a child, tormented as a teenager, warped as a young man, and willfully inaccessible as an adult, Severus had always faced the hardships that accompanied his decisions.

Until Hermione.

Whatever the outcome of the unresolved issues between them, he owed it to himself to discover if his hidden, deep-seated suspicion that Hermione Granger was perhaps the love of his life was true. Fear held him back. As with all potentially magnificent possibilities, the risks were equally magnified. If Severus revealed the depths of his own heart, it would be the greatest risk he had ever taken. It wasn't his life on the line, it was his soul.

"…_nor are my feelings anything but repellant to you."_

Like quicksilver, infiltrating a crack, to puddle and congeal, his thoughts coalesced. He was afraid she might not now love him, that he had lost the opportunity to find a reciprocal relationship with her. If he solved the riddle of the box and it didn't lead him where his heart told him to go, he would be crushed. In that eventuality, his future would be harsh, condemned to live out his years an embittered and lonely wizard. Gods, what a grim thought.

What spurred him to action was the realization that he could not continue as he had been. Severus was utterly wretched and for the sake of his sanity, he must find a resolution.

The destruction of the box would no longer provide the security of ignorance. Ironically, Severus thought that his own, personal Pandora's box had truly been opened.

Swallowing hard he rose, foregoing the remainder of the night's sleep. His chosen path determined he made his way to his bath and his hangover elixir. He had work to do and a puzzle to solve.

An hour later, Severus stood in his private lab, erasing the final chalked notes on his original Compromettere and preparing to unravel the final wards on Hermione's gift. He pointed his wand at the black board, swished the beloved ebony rod, and in a deep voice uttered, "_Dettare." _A long, slender piece of chalk levitated, hanging on his every word, ready to faithfully scratch his verbal commands onto the black surface.

"_I gave you all the clues you need to open the box." _

What clues? He had successfully followed her clue about his research. What other clues had she given him? All she had done was relate a list of dates. By all the gods… the dates. Severus muttered aloud, "I'm an utter imbecile, a prat of the first order."

Dutifully, the chalk faithfully recorded his words on the wall in clear, concise handwriting.

For the first time in weeks, Severus laughed – harshly - at the evidence of his own chastisement. Wandlessly he erased the sentence. He then recorded all relevant data about the Mishima box, and further, the chalk tracked the dates Hermione had recited in August. Severus acknowledged the mistake in not cataloguing them before. With luck, he would avoid resorting to the Pensieve for the information - his last dip into the stone bowl had been traumatizing enough.

Where had his vaunted detachment gone, the control he had drawn on during his precarious career in espionage? Those skills should be second nature; he had relied on them for the majority of his life. And yet, it was more than a decade since he had been required to utilize his training. Ten years of disuse could dull even the sharpest of blades.

Severus furrowed his brow in thought, and began to compile the dates he remembered. When had she been here? "August 31, 2011."

The chalk obediently scratched the date on the board. He remembered her visit was the day before the little cretins stormed the castle. The date's significance? Oh, yes, she had 'completed her assignment,' and realized she was still in love with him. Severus' heart clenched at the thought, and said, "HG claims she's still in love with me," to the date written on the wall.

The words lingered in the office.

Still. She had said 'still.'

Did that mean she was in love with him for the entire decade? Even while she was married to another? Questions flooded his mind.

Severus realized how little he knew about Hermione Granger as an adult. Was Granger even her name? She lived in Japan. Where in Japan? What was her connection with Mishima, Ltd.? It seemed a logical assumption to make that she worked for Mishima, Ltd. How long had she worked for them?

He chastised himself for being so self-centered he hadn't discovered even this rudimentary information about a witch who haunted his every waking moment. He had the tools at his disposal. He knew how to be discreet, how to elicit information he wanted. He knew how to do it discreetly, surreptitiously. Considering the high regard the entire staff held for their former student, there should be little difficulty eliciting the information he required.

What were the other dates she mentioned?

Severus narrowed his eyes in thought. Best to start chronologically, past to present. Their first confrontation was - when? Racking his brain, Severus recalled the date the Dark Lord fell. Hermione had cornered him in his office a scant two days after their emotionally charged and life-altering battle camaraderie. He had been hiding from the ebullience of the wizarding world, and Albus Dumbledore in particular. Severus had been so overwhelmed by the emotional backlash of Voldemort's demise he had needed the quiet solitude of his rooms to sort himself out. That was where she had found and confronted him with her impassioned plea for a chance. And that was where he had callously disregarded her.

It had been such a vulnerable moment that her approach had been immaterial. Had been stark naked and spread-eagled on his desk, he would not have welcomed her. Indeed, Severus had eviscerated her most tender feelings and essentially '_Obliviated'_ himself of the memory.

The date - Mithras' black bollocks - what was that date? Ah. "June 25, 2001." The chalk obediently scribbled the date.

As he remembered her significant dates, Severus muttered them aloud, barely pausing to note the chalk poised for his every word, dutifully following the geas of his spell. His eyes closed in concentration. His brain had finally begun to function with its usual quick-wit.

October 7, 2003. The day his engagement to Narcissa Malfoy had been announced.

He recalled being reluctant to allow the _Daily Prophet _to publish the information, but Narcissa had insisted. How he had allowed her to manipulate him. The morning the news had been printed, Severus had cringed over his morning breakfast at the High Table. Whispers had washed over the Great Hall like a tidal wave, crashing and breaking over the dais to fade into a collectively held breath as he opened his paper. Grimly, he had thought it was a slow news day, because the picture Narcissa had given Rita Skeeter moved in all its glory, filling half the page. It was one of the happy couple seated in the morning room of Malfoy Manor, hands held as Narcissa waved her Aquamarine engagement ring for the camera.

In hindsight, Narcissa's penchant of making a spectacle of herself, of publicly proclaiming that she was his and not Lucius' was suspect.

Severus sighed heavily. If only he had been as insightful then.

That date was important to Hermione as well.

'_The day you broke my heart.'_

She had said the words without inflection, with no indication of the anguish he now believed she had felt. In retrospect, it was that lack of emotion in her usually animated voice that should have been telling. Harry Potter's best friend, had always worn her heart on her sleeve.

Apparently, she had learned something in the decade since leaving England. In August, her emotions had been tightly controlled, subsumed beneath a smooth and elegant façade. He wondered if she were still as passionate as those early years when her expressive face and luminous eyes glittered with every emotion to cross her heart. He wondered if she were as passionate as he imagined almost nightly, despite frequent use of Dreamless Sleep.

Rather than dwell on those thoughts, he recited the next important date: "December 31, 2004."

That had been a year following her precipitous departure from his office. She had fallen in love. Had it taken her that long to bury her feelings for him? Had she fallen in love with someone else, still knowing she was in love with him? How had she met her husband?

Had Albus known? Or Minerva?

Severus snorted aloud. Of course Minerva knew. For years, she had regaled him with tidbits from her frequent correspondence with her favorite former student. Those details would undoubtedly begin to filter through his mental blockade shortly. In the meantime, his memory, now that it was focused, recalled the other important dates in Hermione's litany with successive ease.

She was married on September 21, 2005. Nine months after falling in love - enough time to have a baby. Severus' breath caught in his throat. What if she had a child? Children?

No, somehow he knew that she didn't have children, just as he had known she was no longer married that day in August. Only now, he wanted more information, and he would have to practice subtlety in eliciting the information from his colleagues.

There were other dates to note.

Hermione had been widowed on June 13, 2008. A short marriage then. Surely Minerva had told him this story. He would have to coax it out of her again. No one was as voluble as Minerva McGonagall on the subject of her favorite graduate.

If Severus was honest, his unwillingness to listen to the frequent updates was self-preservation. Hearing news about Hermione had been too much like hitting a slowly healing bruise. Sometimes the painful wound lingered long after the initial injury.

After his own engagement dissolved, he had retreated from frivolous news, especially any specific information about Hermione Granger. If he had given her any concerted thought, it would have meant facing the juxtaposition of a potentially deep emotional connection he had deliberately flouted to the ersatz love he had cherished for Lucius' pale, stylish widow.

With a heavy sigh, Severus pinched the bridge of his Roman nose. The task he set for himself was formidable. Although, as information he intended to gather from his colleagues merged with the details his colleagues had imparted over the years he would have sufficient knowledge with which to devise a way to open the box.

Severus leaned back on the high stool at his work table. His limbs were stiff, but he felt better than he had in weeks. Glancing up at the chalkboard, he saw a neatly charted outline of the significant dates in Hermione's life post-Hogwarts.

After a few minutes' contemplation, the clock interrupted his reverie, chiming the tone signifying 'breakfast,' and he acknowledged the hunger in his stomach. For the first time in weeks, he was actually hungry for a meal. Severus rose to his feet, absently patting the box that had returned to its rightful place in the pocket of his robes. He glanced at the chalkboard, and one date stood out: '_March 21, 2001… in love with you, the day you stood up to Albus… '_

Severus felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs. March 21. His birthday. Today. Today was his birthday and Hermione Granger had been in love with him for eleven years.

He had carried a torch for Narcissa for twenty years, and knew what it felt like to watch the object of your affection entwine themselves in another's arms and heart. Severus suddenly found it difficult to swallow; it seemed he had far more in common with the former Gryffindor Brain than he realized.

Making his way to the High Table, Severus scrutinized his colleagues, gauging their sympathy. It was almost universal. His Slytherin cunning gloated. He would use their sympathy to his own ends, a necessity if he were to succeed in opening the damned little puzzle-box and find his witch.

Minerva was the only one occupied in a task other than dining. She scratched away at a parchment, absentmindedly eating a scone and sipping tea.

'Good,' Severus thought. Her distraction would prove most beneficial. He chose a seat next to her, and was gratified by her smile when he placed his Mishima box in its customary position on the table.

"Good morning, Severus. I trust you're well?"

"Yes, Minerva, I am." He inclined his dark head slightly and raised an eyebrow at her parchment; it appeared to be a letter, and several feet long. "Correspondence?" he asked, leadingly.

"A letter to Hermione; I'm just finishing it up. I want to give it to the post-owl this morning. It's been weeks since I've written to the dear girl, and I do try to keep in touch."

"Ah, the inestimable Miss Granger." He drawled. The corner of his lips twitched as he watched Minerva's spine stiffen at his presumed condescension.

"I'll have you know, Severus Snape, that as I have mentioned before, Miss Granger has not been Miss Granger for several years," Minerva sniffed, affronted. "In fact, her married name matches the one on that little box you're so fond of. She kept her married name after Brian died."

"Minerva, I don't doubt that your Miss Granger – pardon me - Mrs. Mishima is a treasure." He mocked. Mentally Severus catalogued the information while reflecting how easy it was to assume mannerisms others expected, and to goad confidences from them.

Without asking, Severus was regaled with the story of Hermione Granger's – he would never call her Mishima again – last decade: her departure from England, first to France, where she had worked as a minor curse-breaker for Gringott's Paris division, and then to the bank's curse-breaking department in Hong Kong. Mishima, Ltd. had wooed her and won her services in January, 2004. She had moved to their corporate headquarters, located in the old world magical community of Kamakura, Japan. Hermione began to work with Brian Mishima, the chairman's son, and then the two had married the following year.

As Minerva told her tale, Severus realized none of it was new information. Synaptic connections were firing in his memory, and he refrained from grimacing when Minerva waxed lyrically about her happiness when Hermione became engaged. The Transfiguration Professor had met the couple twice in London, when they had traveled to Britain for business. Minerva had liked Brian Mishima. He treated Hermione like a precious gift, although she had been surprised to discover how much older than Hermione he was.

"He was close to your age, Severus. Granted, it makes sense if you think about it. Hermione was always more mature than her peers, or chronological age, would lead you to believe."

Severus, thinking that the age difference between Hermione and him was no longer the impediment it once would've been, only responded, "Indeed."

Minerva had continued more sadly as she recounted the unexpected and untimely death of Brian Mishima. He was sent to Xi'an for a special warding assignment at the Mausoleum of the late Emperor Qin Shi Huang. The Muggle archeological dig had been a popular tourist attraction for a number of years, the most famous aspect being the Emperor's excavated army. More than seven thousand terra cotta warriors and horses had been unearthed, and the site was host to thousands of tourists every year. The wizarding world was concerned the Muggle 'dig' would encroach upon the more private, magical site left by the Emperor's former regent, Lu Buwei, who himself had been a wizard.

The Chinese Ministry of Magic hired Mishima, Ltd. to layer additional security wards around the site, and Brian Mishima, as the son of Mishima's Chairman, had been sent as the most logical and prestigious choice. The Lu tomb was protected by local authorities. They had estimated the additional warding would be nothing more than routine procedure. In hindsight, Hermione would have been a better representative because of her background in curse-breaking. Brian had been hexed and killed within the first twenty-four hours of his trip. Heartbreakingly, Hermione and her father-in-law had been the Mishima representatives to retrieve Brian's body, unravel the pre-existing curse, and set the contracted wards.

"Why, Severus, you never let me prattle on like this. Are you well?"

"I am perfectly well, Minerva." He almost smiled when she pinched her lips at his less than satisfying answer. He had listened attentively, and gained far more than expected. He felt the force of her attention, but had years of experience in masking his inner thoughts and feelings. He turned a bland façade, and ate his breakfast.

Relieved by the change in her younger colleague, Minerva decided to consider the significance of Severus' willingness to listen to her prattle on about her favorite student, past or present, later. She hastily finished her letter while deciding to owl a note to Blaise Zabini later in the day. While Severus still appeared slightly haggard from his recent weeks' inattention to his own personal care, his hair was once again clean, his goatee freshly trimmed, and his eyes were alive and crackling with the force of his personality. The younger Slytherin had been exceedingly worried the previous night when he arrived at her sitting room.

Minerva and Severus finished their breakfast in the more comfortable sort of camaraderie that had characterized their interaction in recent years. The dark-haired wizard poured his last cup of Ceylon black tea, and Minerva gathered her things to depart for her first class of the day when she remembered the date.

"Oh, Severus. Happy birthday."

Simultaneously, with her verbal wishes and Severus' "Thank you, Minerva," an astonishing thing occurred. The Mishima, Ltd. box which had sat quiescent for months on the High Table began to glow and pulse with an iridescent golden light. There was no sound associated with the radiance, but it managed to capture the attention of everyone within the hall - Severus was inordinately relieved that Albus was attending a Wizengamot meeting.

Minerva gasped. At the other end of the High Table, and in his excitement, Filus Flitwick toppled off the magically elevated chair he called his own, squeaking as he went down, "Oh, Severus, what's it doing?"

But Severus Snape was first and foremost a private wizard. It simply wasn't in his nature to share so openly something that mattered to him. With one swift, decisive grab, he captured the shining box, absently noting the pulses were coming in more rapid succession, and he swiftly strode from the Great Hall, his robes billowing in an almost reluctant wave at all who watched his exit.

The last sound he heard was Rolanda Hooch's excited shriek, "Is it opening, Severus? Today's my day, you know!"

As soon as he heard the doors thud shut behind him, Severus abandoned all sense of decorum and sprinted for his lab. For some reason, he knew that this was it. He hadn't quite figured it out yet, but he realized that perhaps Hermione had charmed a failsafe into the box.

Today's date had significance to them both.

It was his birthday, and it was the anniversary of the day she had first realized her feelings for him. Of course. He might have seen it earlier had he paid closer attention to her clues. Instead, he had wallowed in stubbornness and his own inability to face his feelings for the remarkable witch.

The box radiated warmth from his pocket, and golden light leaked from the hidden cache in his robes. Rarely before had the hallways of the dungeons been so brightly lit.

Careening into his lab, Severus placed the now rapidly strobing, illuminated box on top of his work table. As he caught his breath, he realized the pulses were beating in time with his own heart. They were slowing until they held steady, and when his heartbeat evened out the glow maintained a constant glow.

He sat still for several endless minutes, waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Until the final pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Severus took the last intuitive leap that had made his services as a spy invaluable to the side of the Light. The box wouldn't open without the password. The one tailored exclusively for him, and created by _her_, based on her feelings for him.

With great daring, he uttered the fateful words he believed Hermione had used as the final password to release the remaining layers of wards surrounding his very precious treasure. His voice trembled with emotion as he whispered, "I love you."

He had never said the words before.

At one time, he might have thought them to Narcissa, but by the time she was his, it had seemed too juvenile to say. There had never been anyone else, other than the former Gryffindor witch.

With its final throbbing strobe of light, the box went out. Hermione's voice filled the room, warmth replacing the chill of the sudden darkness.

"Happy birthday, Severus. Today is significant in more ways than one, but your birthday is something to celebrate. My gift to you is inside."

Severus noted the newly revealed seam, and very carefully, his fingers caressing the wood, he removed the entire top of the box. He looked inside and his heart stopped. He felt lightheaded.

Groping for the stool, he sat down heavily upon it. He blinked hard to clear his sight, and smelled the traces of Hermione's unique, exotic fragrance from the interior crèche. Severus was staggered by the enormity of her gift.

Nestled within the indigo velvet lining lay Hermione's golden medal, her Order of Merlin, First Class.

A tiny scroll of parchment lay visible beneath the coveted golden trinket.

As if he had cast '_Wingardium leviosa_,' the scroll floated up from the box until it was suspended in front of Severus' disbelieving eyes. The scroll unrolled, the crimson words on the parchment clearly legible and in Hermione's copperplate script. He removed the medal - his own personal holy grail - and reverently held the golden disc in his hands.

Her voice resounded in the quiet room, reciting the words of the note as he read what she had written.

"_In every war there are unsung heroes. Regardless of the reasons they are driven to serve, they have given selflessly and painfully, devoted to a just cause that doesn't always acknowledge their sacrifices. You are one of those men._

_Please accept my gift in the spirit in which it is given, from someone who recognizes your contributions to my adopted world. This medal is rightfully yours, and should have been awarded to you ten years ago._

_Thank you, Severus, for all you have done to ensure the future. The world is a better place with you in it."_

Severus felt the unfamiliar sting of tears prick his eyelids. He re-read the last few sentences several times because his eyes were so filled with moisture he could barely make out the words.

Hermione had given him her Order of Merlin, First Class. Her medal. A medal she had earned, and one he had coveted all his adult life - the true recognition for his sacrifices. By Mithras' Golden Horns, she truly understood. She had acknowledged the debt to him.

Severus slid off the stool and sank to his knees on the cold stone floor, so shaken that he couldn't have taken a step if Voldemort had risen from the grave. Hermione Granger had willingly given her medal to him because she valued him, and wanted him to know it.

What a fool he had been not to see her true worth before he had thrown her out.

It had taken seven months for him to realize how priceless she was, and that she wanted him. Him. The greasy bat from the dungeons. She honestly seemed to have loved the snarky, brooding, ex-spy, ex-Death Eater, and completely besotted wizard that he was.

He ran his trembling fingers over the raised and molded lines of the medal, and then carefully returned it to its box. To think that he had been carrying around a First Class medal for months. That he had tried to burn it, to hurl it from the Astronomy tower. A sardonic grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. How ironic it would've been if he had been successful.

How could he ever repay her, to thank her for this gift? It was so much more than a memento, or a polite social gesture. It was an acknowledgment that someone, some where, knew just how much he deserved the medal, and she had rectified the injustice. It was more than anyone else had done.

Gods, but he admired the witch, the remarkable, stubborn, brilliant witch who had tormented him with her enigmatic puzzle leading him down a path to self-realization.

A woman who would never come to him again. Not after the rejection of her last visit.

Severus' excitement chilled in his guts. Hermione had no reason to think him receptive to her. If he ever wanted to see her again, or begin any sort of a relationship with her, as was becoming his heart's most ardent wish, it was up to him to rectify this situation.

A thank you wouldn't be amiss. It would bridge the gap he had created with his abrasive rebuff. Perhaps a letter. He was good with words. He could write a letter. No. She could tear it up, or return it. There was no telling how she might respond to a letter from him, especially after his last words to her.

He really should thank her in person, but that would mean going to Japan.

He mentally snorted. It wasn't as if it were a box of chocolates or a scarf that she had given him. This was no ordinary gift. It required an equally extraordinary thank you. Definitely in person. There was nothing else for it.

He would go to Japan.

Japan. He had never traveled there. He would have to ease Flitwick into conversation again.

After this morning's events, it shouldn't be too hard. Filius, not to mention the entire staff, would be falling all over him to find out whether he had opened the box. Fortunately, with the small wizard's enthusiasm, a judicious word or two should release floodgates of information.

That only left one other decision to make. When to go?

Severus calculated the dates in his head. Spring break was in three weeks' time. That would give him an entire week to attempt to make peace with Hermione once he found her.

He looked at the Order of Merlin again. All the fear and doubt he had the night before and the preceding weeks, vanished with the very solid evidence of Hermione's deep-seated regard for him.

With a lighter heart than in years, Severus Snape began to make plans.

~o0o~


	7. Chapter 7

**Calling Card**

By Bambu

All disclaimers and author's notes may be found in Chapter One.

~o0o~

_**Chapter Seven: Brinkmanship (56-64)**_

_In which Severus goes in search of… Hermione. There is only a hint of citrus in this chapter, but there will be more…_

The weeks between Severus' birthday and Spring break passed as if he were in a free-fall Wronski Feint. There was so much to accomplish. Severus arranged his leave with Albus who - aside from one penetrating look - affably declared, "Have a lovely time, my boy. Kamakura is such a delightful blend of modern and traditional, and I believe you'll have an additional treat. The cherry blossoms should be in full bloom while you're there," before returning to his book.

Of course, Severus had not mentioned _where_ he planned to go during his holiday.

Filius was as forthcoming as usual, eagerly providing Severus with the audio-vocal translation charm he used when traveling to foreign lands. His price: one small glimpse of the Mishima, Ltd. Box, fully opened. Severus granted his request, and Filius marveled at the delicacy of the workmanship, and the seamless join when the box closed.

Of course, Severus had not shown the small wizard the Order of Merlin, First Class. That was far too personal.

Minerva hadn't batted an eyelash when he casually mentioned traveling over the holidays. It was the first time in known memory that Severus Snape had taken a holiday, much less an overseas holiday. Of course, Minerva had looked at him more appraisingly than was her custom, but had said nothing, and Severus was content to let it remain thus.

He went so far as to venture into Muggle London, and a crazily disorienting shop called Harrods, to purchase a suit and two sets of casual clothes.

Of course, the suit was black, as were the two pairs of light worsted trousers. However, Severus felt greatly daring when he purchased two gray dress shirts.

Every night in his labs, Severus reviewed the chart of Hermione's significant dates. Most were insignificant to him, other than March 21 and August 30, the days she had recognized her love for him.

She had begun to visit him in his dreams again. Nightly. Some nights, the dreams were merely evidence of his growing desire for a future with the witch. Those left him feeling secure and comforted. Other nights, his dreams were distinctly erotic, tongues dancing, limbs entwining, and they left him so aroused the house-elves had taken to changing his sheets with almost daily frequency, despite the cleaning charms he used. Severus was fervently glad of their discretion, and the fact that only Winky and her protégé, Bitsy, catered to his whims.

As the end of term drew near, Severus' students eyed him with something like suspicion. They'd been quieter and better behaved than all year, even when quaking with fear during his melancholy days. Other than those halcyon weeks during first term, Severus took fewer house points and was less acerbic than he had ever been. So impersonal and detached had he become that Frank Longbottom could have surpassed his father's own astounding number of melted cauldrons for a First Year and Severus wouldn't have cared.

However, the Potions Master's attitude was so unsettling to the students, that no less than three classmates were assisting young Mr. Longbottom to brew his assignments. Mr. Longbottom was perfectly contented to accept help rather than do the work himself, and was rapidly revealing the reason he had been sorted into Slytherin in the first place.

Severus didn't notice, indeed, he hadn't even noticed Slytherin was in the clear lead for the House Cup, outdistancing its closest competitor, Ravenclaw, by one-hundred-forty-five points.

Happy was the day Severus saw the Hogwarts Express chug magically, with shrouds of steam, out of the Hogsmeade Train Station. He almost waved good-bye to the little reprobates before turning to make his way to the dungeons and his own final preparations for his trans-continental Portkey. A charmed chopstick was placed on his work table in his private lab, lying on the smooth-grained wood, ready for his departure. His Portkey would activate at 9:00pm, which would make his arrival in Kamakura 6:05am the following day. He had wanted to arrive as early as possible, unwilling to waste a moment of his time to find Hermione.

That night, Severus had eaten privately in his rooms, far too nervous to trudge to the Great Hall and bear the scrutiny of his colleagues. He hadn't told anyone his plans, not even Blaise who had made weekly visits in hopes of discovering what Severus was planning. Severus promised to enlighten his protégé after the trip.

After dinner, Severus finalized his packing and changed into the Muggle suit - it was uncomfortable, and he had purchased something called boxer shorts to protect his privates from the metal teeth of the trousers. Ingenious device, but dangerous.

By eight-thirty Severus finalized his packing, tucked his Mishima, Ltd. box in his Muggle coat and flicked his wand. With a quiet "_Extenuo,"_ his luggage rapidly shrank until it, too, was as small as the Mishima box. Tucking the miniaturized trunk into his trousers, Severus returned to his sitting room, chopstick in hand.

He paced the well-worn path in front of his fireplace until the clock read '_Time To Go.'_

Suddenly, the irrevocable decision he had made froze his gut as he considered changing his mind. Bludger-sized butterflies slammed into his nervous stomach, inciting panic. Then, his iron will asserted itself, and before he could give his decision the ninetieth thought, he patted the Mishima box and gritted out, "_Portus_."

With a familiar tugging sensation at his belly button, the professor vanished from his rooms.

Three days later, Severus still hadn't approached Hermione in person.

He had seen her. Oh, yes, he had filled his days with her.

Each morning, he planned to speak with her when she came to the giant bronze Buddha for what appeared to be daily meditation. But his nerve had failed him.

That first morning when he arrived in Kamakura, Severus went directly from the bustling Apparition point, side-by-side with the Muggle Train Depot for the one-time capital of Japan, to the entrance of the outdoor Buddha's shrine, nestled in the foothills. The tang of the ocean sharp in his nostrils.

It was both a Magical and a Muggle site, and one of the few intersecting points in the world. Severus knew, from listening to Minerva, that Hermione's morning ritual included lighting incense at the front of the bronze statue. He had waited - patiently, eagerly, nervously - tucked into the shadows of giant bamboo off to the side of the gravel and stone-paved path.

At first when Hermione had arrived, the raven-haired wizard hadn't recognized her. She was dressed in full formal kimono, glorious lavender, gold, and sienna patterned silk, and an offsetting red brocade obi. Her hair had been pulled severely back from her face, in a heavy chignon that nestled at the nape of her neck.

The second he recognized her, Severus felt as if he had been hexed. He couldn't move a muscle. She was stunning in the elegant simplicity of style and her adherence to Japanese traditional clothing. As she had passed his hiding place, he sank deeper into the shadows. His heart raced, adrenaline spiked, and his hands had shaken so badly he could not have drawn his wand, if necessary.

In his mind, the potential results of this one meeting were irrevocable. They meant heaven or hell for the rest of his life, and Severus had been paralyzed by fear of failure, and equally of success.

Instead of direct confrontation, he resorted to doing that which he had done best for the majority of his adult life. Espionage.

The former Death-Eater-turned-spy tracked Hermione's every public move. Her morning meditation ritual, her lunch at the tiny fifteenth-century restaurant, served by the ancient crone who treated Hermione with deference and affection, and her daily arrival at Mishima, Ltd.'s headquarters. It hadn't appeared to matter that it was a weekend when he arrived. Hermione had still gone to work. Severus had approached the entrance several times, but had not crossed the portal.

Severus was pleased numerous Occidental wizards pursued their business in Kamakura, in that way he avoided drawing the attention an obvious stranger in a less cosmopolitan neighborhood would warrant. The Muggle clothing he had chosen to wear was effective camouflage, blending comfortably with the sober business attire of many of the natives. British Wizarding robes would have been too unique in these surroundings. He was already head and shoulders taller than most of the local magical community, some of the aged witches were truly tiny.

The days had passed faster than he realized, only six remained of his holiday. He had to do something. He consistently berated himself for his trepidation, but he didn't want to have his conversation with Hermione in a public venue, and he hadn't discovered the location of her residence. She appeared to depart directly from the private Apparition Point within the Mishima building.

Today was the day he would speak with her. Today was the day he would know if there was a chance for a future with her.

As Severus waited for his witch to arrive in the rather damp morning, he patted his pocket for the familiar comfort of his little box. It was chilly, and he wrapped his heavy greatcoat more tightly around his body. Absently, he took in his beautiful surroundings. Fog blanketed the local hills, having rolled in off the coast during the night. The misty gray layer lent an eerie, soundproofed quality to the morning. Even the sounds of the nearby Muggle buses were quieter as a result of the weather.

He mused about the similarities between the magical community he had found in Japan with the European wizarding community. In some ways they appeared as caste-bound as the British community. Yet, there was an odd blend of the rigidly traditional with the more fluidly modern.

He had discovered some of the entrenched noble families embraced advances in magical innovation. Brian Mishima, Hermione's deceased husband, had been one of their most vocal proponents. As the number one son of his family, his open-mindedness was unusual, but had been tolerated because of his position as heir of the Mishima family business.

Severus found himself thinking of the parallels between Brian Mishima and Blaise Zabini, and regardless of the age difference, the similarities were remarkable. Both sons had led their siblings in a direction of tolerance and acceptance, and their choices had benefited their families.

Severus had oozed as much charm as was possible for a Slytherin to use on short acquaintance, and had befriended the elderly witch who ran the tiny restaurant where Hermione ate her mid-day meals. Takahashi-san had been honored to discuss her favorite 'gaijin,' or 'foreigner' as Severus' Nihongo translation charm seamlessly shifted one language to the other.

Apparently, the local magical community was fairly small, so anything relating to the Mishima widow was news, and Severus was pleased to note that Hermione Granger was as noteworthy in Japan as she had been in Britain.

The saturnine wizard had folded his long legs under the short table and proceeded to eat whatever delicacies Takahashi-san provided. His favorite was the grilled eel sushi, brushed with a local Tamari. Licking his long fingers, enjoying the slightly sweet taste of the warmed sauce, Severus had listened respectfully as his gifted story-teller regaled him with exactly the information he was seeking.

When Brian Mishima had met and married the beautiful gaijin, it had almost caused him to be disowned. Hermione's respectful attitude and eager assimilation of local customs had softened the patriarch's opinion of her. After several years, the entire adjunct community of Kamakura now spoke affectionately of their gaijin's willingness to learn the language, adopt appropriate modes of dress, and even her deference for 'mama-san,' Brian's mother and the grand old witch of Kamakura. Mishima-san, the patriarch, had bent first, and with his acceptance, the rest of the family and community followed.

Hermione's professional brilliance hadn't hurt either, except when she had first married Brian. Mishima, Ltd. initially lost business as local wizards attempted to ostracize them, but with Hermione's contacts, both in England and through her connections at Gringott's, Mishima, Ltd.'s business had trebled. Not slow to recognize success, the remainder of the insular Japanese wizarding community had begun to rethink the advantages of cross-culturalization.

As the old witch told the tale, Severus had reflected upon Hermione's adaptability. She had lived as a Muggle until she was eleven, and then had adjusted with frightening speed to her adopted Magical world. She had rapidly risen to the top of her year, and within five years, Hermione Granger led the school in terms of her marks, her intellectual curiosity and acumen. There had been several Ravenclaws and a couple of Slytherins whose marks were within points of the Gryffindor witch's. However in all cases, they were children from pureblood families. None had struggled with the handicap of being from a non-magical background.

Yes, he thought with a little pride, Hermione would have adjusted to the Japanese wizarding community in a similarly chameleon-like manner. The Potions Master found himself marveling once again at the possibility that such a remarkable witch could, in fact, want him.

His attention had been drawn back to the story, sharpening when it turned to Brian's death. Hermione's popularity had soared following her husband's passing. She had comported herself in a very appropriate manner as his widow, and only within the past two years had she moved from the families' main residence, waiving her place in the hierarchy in favor of Brian Mishima's younger brother, Hiro Allen and his wife, Sumie.

Severus reflected upon all that he had learned as he waited for Hermione to arrive that chilly morning.

From his position, he had an excellent view of the narrow street leading to the shrine. He cast his eyes on the rich abundance of pink and white cherry blossoms bloomed only the day before – their fleeting season was late. Within the previous twenty-four hours the entire landscape around Kamakura had changed. The green arch of branches lining the high street had become a living canopy of pink, and here in the suburbs, on the edge of the magical community, the landscape had become a riotous, soft-edged vision of pale pink against the determined wispiness of the early morning fog.

Albus would have been enchanted, and Severus acknowledged very privately that it was a sight he would never forget, regardless of his success or failure with the witch who seemed to hold his happiness in her small hands.

So lost was he in his thoughts that he didn't notice her arrival.

"Hello, Severus. Are you going to speak with me, today, or shall we continue the dance?"

At that moment, Severus Snape could have been blown over with a gust of air, he was so startled. He whipped around to face Hermione as she stepped out of the shadows behind the bamboo grove. She was so close the hem of his greatcoat flapped against her stocking-clad legs.

She had obviously been waiting for him, standing downwind so as not to give herself away – even now she had taken his field of expertise into account. As in his office that day, so long ago, she was dressed in a black silk suit, jewel-toned silk blouse, and her long, slender legs wore high-heeled black boots. Her heels were higher than the last time he had seen her, bringing her head to nose height. Her eyes were serious, and her emotions were unreadable.

His heart thumped painfully in his ribcage as Severus frantically searched his mind for what to say. He hadn't been ready yet. In truth, all his considerable self-possession fled, leaving him staring at the woman standing before him, as if she were a chimera.

"I apologize for startling you, but I didn't think you'd speak to me otherwise."

"I… I had planned on making my presence known to you this morning, Miss… Mrs.… Hermione." The wizard known for making vicious, cutting remarks on the spur of a moment, couldn't, for the life of him, speak a coherent sentence without stuttering.

But his discomposure served to give the witch facing him the first moment of very real hope. Her heart melted a little in the face of his fluster, and her features relaxed, her mouth softening to its normal full contours. "You've never before called me by my first name."

Involuntarily, Hermione half-raised a hand toward him, coming within centimeters of touching him before she seemed to remember herself and her location. She stepped back a little, her eyelids fluttered almost as if she were afraid, and she tilted her chin ready to take the blow he never intended to throw.

"I have never before believed that it would be welcome."

Severus raised a hand at her almost instant cry of rebuttal. "How did you know I was here?" he asked.

Hermione smiled as she thought about her own, unintentional spy. Someone who had no idea she was providing Hermione with the very information the younger witch craved, even as she wrote her diligent monthly letters. Hermione had been kept abreast of the state of Severus' movements, even to the point of knowing that Rolanda Hooch was taking a 'spa' vacation in St. Moritz from her winnings in the betting pool surrounding the date of the box's opening. "I have a very diligent correspondent who has spent the last decade filling me in on all the pertinent details of those I care about."

"Minerva." Severus instantly knew the answer.

"Minerva." Hermione agreed, her heart pounding rapidly. The reality of his presence was almost overwhelming when compared to her imagination.

For a man whose patience outlasted the Dark Lord, it was noticeably lacking in this instance. Severus' heart felt as if it had come loose from its moorings and had anchored itself in his throat, pounding wildly. He fought to get the words out that would seal his fate. As a result, the mellifluous quality that his voice normally had was missing. "Please." His voice was almost grating as his emotions overrode his normal vocal control. "I have come to realize that I care for you, Hermione." He took a deep, steadying breath. "You are too generous to trifle with me. Tell me now if your feelings are the same as they were last autumn. If not, you have my oath that I will never broach the subject again."

Hermione's eyes shone like sun-graced topaz, practically golden in their incandescence. The heat of her regard charred Severus' doubts into ash. A frisson of awareness shot through him, and he held his breath for the words that would make or break him.

This time, Hermione didn't abort her inclination, and her small, neatly-manicured hand rested on his forearm – his tainted left forearm. Her voice was almost breathless, and slightly trembled from the intensity of the moment. "My feelings? My feelings. Severus, my feelings for you have only deepened with time, so much that I can scarce tell if any of my heart remains my own."

"Gods, Hermione—" Severus couldn't continue as his voice broke. The rapier-witted Potions Master of Hogwarts let his actions speak for him as he pulled his willing witch roughly into his arms and crushed her mouth with his, savoring the reality of her sweetness.

He completely disregarded the fact they were standing in the middle of a sacred shrine in a country which frowned upon public displays of affection. He ignored the fact that _he _frowned on public displays of affection. He forgot that he was the staid, taciturn black bat of the dungeons, one who deducted house points for any student he found in as public an embrace.

Instead, he marveled that the one witch who mattered most to him in the world - regardless of how recent that epiphany had been - was in his arms.

Hermione was in his arms and nothing else mattered at that moment.

Or the next.

After several long, very satisfying minutes of mutual exploration, and when the necessity for oxygen seemed paramount, they broke their kiss.

Hermione gave a small and happy sigh, nestling her face against his neck.

Severus could feel her inhale his scent and a primordial sense of male pride rippled through him with the thought that she actually found him appealing.

Hermione snuggled closer to him, and even though she had loved her husband, her desire for this wizard was something she felt in every cell of her body. He was her ideal in terms of selfless, tenacious perseverance, and she had loved Severus for a very long time. He called to her soul in a way nothing and no one else in her life ever had. She was mesmerized by the rumble of his voice, even as she felt it through his chest.

"I wanted to thank you for your gift. I cannot express how much it has meant to me." As he spoke, Severus maneuvered them further into the relative screening of the giant bamboo grove, providing them with a modicum of privacy. It was not enough, but would do for the nonce. As they moved, Severus kept his arms around her, entwining his fingers in her thick, loosely gathered hair, inhaling her rich, exotic fragrance.

Hermione raised her head to look at him, her eyes shining; the fingers of one hand rising to feel the silky texture of his goatee.

He inhaled sharply, as his body reacted instantly to the tenderness of her exploration.

"It's no more than you deserve," Hermione said sincerely, and thought a blush added a great deal of charm to his strong features. She was enchanted by it.

"A hastily quilled 'thank you' would hardly cover my gratitude; it really required a personal touch."

His voice deepened to a low register that evoked a simmering heat in her veins. "You've given me an entirely new appreciation for the personal touch," she said softly. "I rather expected you to hate me for warding the box so heavily."

Severus dropped one arm and deftly retrieved the Mishima box from his trouser pocket. He held it up so that she could see it. "I assume you're referring to this box?"

Her eyes widened when she saw that he was carrying the box with him, and not quite knowing what he was going to say, merely nodded her head. Her gaze was steady and unafraid.

His dark eyes pierced through the veil of protective, shrouding layers he could see in her eyes, and his hope burgeoned into belief that this woman was indeed his for the asking. He had nothing further to fear in revealing some of his own tightly-guarded thoughts and feelings. With rueful candor, he let her into the inner-sanctum of his thoughts and feelings. He acknowledged her understanding.

"I _was_ angry." They shared a brief smile for the understatement in his words, both knowing that anger was a polite word to express his reaction to her gambit. Then he said, "I was not overjoyed at the challenge you presented to me, or the length of time it took for me to find your gift. Although, in all honesty, Hermione, I doubt that I would have realized my feelings for you if you had gone about it in any other fashion." He slipped the box back into his pocket and resumed his hold on her waist.

She sighed deeply and tucked her head under his chin, allowing the truth of his words to wash over her. Before she had embarked upon her visit to Hogwarts the previous fall, Hermione had known the path to his heart would have to be circuitous, and perhaps in a manner similar to water wearing away the jagged edges of a stone. Over the course of time, water triumphed over the roughest exterior.

"I know," she said. "Since we're being scrupulously honest with each other, I knew you, Severus. I realized you wouldn't welcome any intrusion that would attempt to breach your defenses. I honestly wanted you to have the medal you were denied and that I know you deserve." She raised her head to grace him with the sincerity of her look. She might not be one, but Hermione understood that between Legilimens a direct look was the most intimate of gestures. "The idea for the box was my last hope. If it hadn't intrigued you, if you hadn't changed your mind about me, then I would have put away my dreams and—"

Severus stopped her words with his lips, sucking her confession into his mouth, soothing her insecurity with the unmistakable intensity of his kiss.

He had subconsciously recognized the intent of Hermione's gift long before he acknowledged both the objective and his own thoughts regarding the beguiling witch in his arms. He had been so sure that he would have to learn about Hermione Granger, the adult, and it would take time. Suddenly, he realized that he knew her heart… the rest would take care of itself.

Finally, accepting the truth, and allowing the triumph of their moment of fruition, Severus took the time to taste her. His tongue teased her awareness of him, of them, to a new level, and when she moaned in response to their ardor he broke off, panting raggedly.

Hermione struggled to even out her breathing, angling her head until her forehead rested upon his pursed lips. She hadn't quite expected Severus to be so forward. She had hoped the treasure of this man's heart could be found beneath the crusty layers of scar tissue built over the years of emotional pain, but hadn't really let herself expect too much.

Now, she reeled from the rapid physical escalation of their emotional responses to each other, and strove to restore her equilibrium. After all, they weren't hormonally-driven teenagers requiring instant sexual gratification rather than a more languorous exploration of what she hoped promised to be a more lasting relationship.

"Silly little girl."

The tenderness in his voice was raw silk cascading deliciously along her nerve endings, sending shivers the length of her spine.

External noises, people and vehicles, that had been so distantly muted by the density of the fog, and their mutual distraction intruded on their relative privacy as the fog burned off with the cresting of the sun over the mountains, bathing the couple in the bright spring sunshine, almost a divine benediction.

"Snarky old professor." Her voice was light and teasing.

"Know-it-all." His eyes shone with good humor and the corners of his mouth tugged upward.

Hermione's answering smile was breathtaking in its exquisite happiness.

Never in all his life, had Severus Snape been graced with such a smile. It was the same type of smile Lily Evans had given James Potter, that Lavender Brown had given Blaise Zabini, and Nymphadora Tonks had given Ronald Weasley. Certainly Narcissa had never given Severus a smile like that. After her duplicity, Severus had surrendered the idea that such a smile would ever be bestowed upon him.

"Slytherin."

"Gryffindor."

She laughed, her lilting delight rippling in the morning air. Her eyes radiated a banked amber fire. One small hand found his, her fingers lacing with his slightly calloused fingers, and tugging on his arm, the titian-haired witch turned to regain the stone path.

"Would you care to join me for breakfast, O Potions Master, mine?"

"It would be my pleasure."

He turned to lead her into the bustling activity of the morning traffic in Kamakura's suburbs.

"Not that way, Severus. I meant breakfast at my home. We'll have to Apparate."

Tightening her grip on his hand almost as if she were afraid he would take the opportunity to vanish, Hermione pulled him in the direction of the great Buddha and the magical Apparition point behind the shrine. She didn't relinquish his hand even after they were in plain view of the other early morning pilgrims and a few eager tourists.

Severus found that he didn't mind her possessive display in the slightest.

~o0o~


	8. Chapter 8

**Calling Card**

By Bambu

All disclaimers and author's notes may be found in Chapter One.

~o0o~

_**Chapter Eight: Ascendance (65-83)**_

_In which Severus and Hermione reach for the stars… and find them. There is lemon sorbet for dessert here._

Breakfast was delicious.

Severus was surprised by how very British it was: eggs, rashers, toast topped with slightly bitter marmalade. Not to mention the seemingly never-ending supply of good, strong, black tea.

The spare, traditional Ryokan setting of Hermione's home, with its ancient-beamed ceilings, tatami mats, tufted cushions, and the low-lying, wooden dining table was an odd juxtaposition to the fine bone, floral-patterned china they drank from. Seated on the floor, Severus hadn't been able to keep himself from fingering the magnificent flame of the native wooden Keyaki table.

A spurt of satisfaction bubbled in his chest when he realized Hermione appreciated fine wood as much as he did. In the corner of the room stood an antique chest, Hermione told him it was called a tansu, beautifully crafted, and from his understanding of wood, he thought it was golden cedar.

He and Hermione faced one another across the dining table in the great room of her private residence. It was a small building in the heart of Hakone's resort area, overlooking Lake Ashi. In fact, the view from her house and surrounding terrace was spectacular. The sparkling lake, the forest, and the fog-dappled mountains in the distance reminded the Potions Master sharply of the view from the top of the Astronomy Tower, except there was no Giant Squid here to wave at him, and no chauvinistic Merpeople to debate.

The local architecture significantly differed from that which he was used to. Severus found himself enchanted by the low ceilings, the wide terrace surrounding the building, and the small, formal gardens: pea gravel and local flora. But the one feature that he found most appealing was the wall-to-wall windows which could be opened to the outside.

When they had arrived at the broad flagstone Apparition point in front of her rustic bamboo-latticed gate, Hermione explained that she had acquired her residence as part of a barter arrangement with the owners of the magical inn. She created the security warding around the magical resort, Japan's premiere vacation getaway for wizards and witches in search of old-fashioned culture and service.

The resort's servants were a variant of house-elf, local Kami, or spirits, who desired nothing more than the hedonistic delight of their charges. Ephemeral as to form, they were nonetheless able to wield magical energy to a purpose, and when necessary – for heavy cleaning – they could summon the wizarding caretakers for assistance. Hermione's resident Kami was entirely self-sufficient, and inhabited the formal tea garden to the south of the entrance. Hermione gave it daily offerings of flowers and Onigiri; she transfigured the local rice balls into amusing shapes for her house spirit, and together, witch and Kami lived amicably.

A small sigh drew Severus' attention from admiring the view to the lovely woman seated across from him. She seemed equally riveted to the view of the lake. Her feet were devoid of shoes and tucked neatly beneath her in accustomed practice, as if she sat in this posture daily.

He mentally snorted; she did sit like this daily. This was her home.

He ruefully grimaced, remembering how surprised he was to discover that removing his shoes before entering the building was required. She had offered to transfigure slippers for his feet which he declined with a quelling look, and now his thick-soled boots were paired next to hers in the small chest in her entry. At least he hadn't tripped or waved his arms in ludicrous fashion while maintaining his balance toeing off the boots.

Breakfast conversation ranged over a variety of subjects: time distortion from traveling, differences between the wizarding communities in Britain and Japan, the dangers inherent in Hermione's work, as well as his current potions research – none, he confessed. He had been consumed with the need to dismantle the wards on the Mishima box.

Hermione's smile could've rivaled the sun for brilliance when she realized that he hadn't been able to break all of her wards, and that it was the failsafe she had put in place that triggered his recognition of the final password.

Neither had quite voiced those words aloud, they were, at present, inert. Similar to a love potion, their mutual understanding was lacking the frozen Ashwinder eggs to render it potent.

Severus had granted her the smugness she was entitled to at his revelation, and then had asked the question he had wanted to for the past several months. "I have been curious to know how you managed the verbal messages. They were always timely, specifically the New Year's and Valentine's greetings. I have never before encountered wards of that nature. I will admit Charms isn't my area of expertise, however Filus thought they were a remarkable achievement."

Hermione blushed a little at the compliment. "They aren't difficult to do, actually. It's an innovation I've been working on for several months, so many a good portion of the messages I pre-recorded. Truly, it's more time consuming than difficult." She glanced at him, a mischievous light in her eyes. "Recording the more personalized sentiments and your name two-hundred-and-five times took hours to complete, and left me with no voice to speak of. The time-released messages were charmed in layers anchored to the box. The intervening ley lines were added protections against destruction, as well as a modified Portkey anchored to the family crest. The Portkey functioned to return the box to its most used resting place. These protections were self-replicating. The dissipation of each vocal charm, which occurred each night at midnight, triggered the renewal of the preservation wards on the box."

Her answer fascinated Severus as he watched her animated face discuss her chosen profession. At last he recognized the young woman he remembered, full of life and enthusiasm. He flashed on his last conversation with Filius Flitwick about the recorded messages. The tiny wizard had practically hyperventilated in excitement of a new innovation.

"But, Hermione, why would there need to be so many layers—" he realized the answer as he asked the question, "—of course, the number of days between the date of the gift and my birthday. You had very little faith in my ability to find the key."

She smiled affectionately at the sudden stiffness in his tone. He was, after all, a rather proud man. "It wasn't so much that I didn't have faith in your ability, Severus, so much as I counted on the fact you were stubborn enough not to ask for assistance. Filius could probably have dismantled most of the wards, and I would've been more than willing to give you some assistance…."

Severus scowled at her answer, a little offended by her lack of faith in his intelligence, and a little embarrassed at her correct assessment of his stubbornness.

She wasn't put off by his manner, her eyes sparkled at him. "No, I didn't think so."

He bore her teasing with surprisingly little annoyance. The silence was peaceful and he gazed out over the lake once more.

After several minutes, a small clatter of china drew Severus' attention. He glanced at the source of his distraction - Hermione's hand placing her porcelain cup in its saucer. From her small, well-manicured fingers he trailed his gaze up the pale, lightly-freckled arm to her elegant throat. His eyes lingered on her mouth, the full lower lip still bearing signs of abuse from her childhood habit of chewing on it when nervous. He watched her mouth twitch, and one corner lifted in amusement. His eyes flicked to hers when she spoke.

"Something interesting?"

"Yes," he growled. "Something I've denied myself for far too long."

His glittering onyx regard triggered a primal response in Hermione, and her eyes dilated with the longing she had relegated to fantasy for over a decade. Her cheeks pinked at the inherent meaning of his sentence, and breathlessly she belied his formerly derisive comments about her incessant volubility. "Oh."

"Indeed."

Severus attempted to regain his feet, but sitting cross-legged on a tatami-matted floor, no matter how well padded, had caused his feet to fall asleep. He staggered around her living space, shaking his feet in alternating steps.

"Damnation!"

Peals of laughter met his uncoordinated, jerky movements as he jiggled around the great room, and he glared at Hermione as she gracefully rose to her feet, instantly making him feel awkward and ungainly. It was something he had not been accused of since he was at least fifteen.

"Oh, Severus!" She giggled. "You do know how to set a mood."

To his immense surprise, Hermione crossed to his side and dropped to her knees in front of him. Her actions were capable of a variety of interpretations and he didn't want to misread her intentions. Severus didn't join her laughter, feeling a bit exposed. He kept his head bowed, his black hair screening his face slightly, in case she was actually laughing at him rather than enjoying the humor of the moment.

Glancing up at him through her thick lashes, Hermione took one of Severus' hands and braced it on her shoulder, and then she reached for one of his narrow, sock-clad feet.

Severus let her raise it to her lap, balancing himself on her shoulder. Just the feel of her hands on his foot as she massaged his long toes, the arch of his foot, and his Achilles tendon ignited his latent passion. And then her hands – her marvelously talented hands – crept up inside his trousers to massage his lower calf muscles.

The contact shock of skin touching skin raced through his body. His foot was no longer asleep, nor was any other portion of his anatomy.

At the first touch of her hands to his skin, Severus' mind leaped ahead, to wishful images of Hermione extending her attentions elsewhere on his body. Those thoughts caused most of the blood in his brain to flee directly to his groin. He couldn't have stopped the reaction if he'd wanted to – and he certainly didn't want to.

Severus' free hand stroked Hermione's glossy, once-bushy hair. He bent over far enough that he could circle his hand around her neck, to her pale throat, which he noticed was working convulsively – he smirked to think that she wasn't unaffected by their closeness – and to cup her chin in his palm. He gently tilted her head upward, to face him.

What he planned to say was lost, as was he, when he looked into the molten black gold of her eyes. Her desire was as naked as he fervently hoped they soon would be.

Removing his foot from her grasp, Severus folded to his knees, one hand still on her shoulder, the other moving to the nape of her neck, tugging her toward him as be bent to capture her willing mouth with his.

This time the kiss had the benefit of being their third. Each knew who tilted to which side, so all their focus was on the melding, twining dance of their tongues as they explored each other's mouths with abandon and a fierce joy of discovery.

Neither knew when they rose up to their knees, bodies pressed together until they were almost bonded from knee to thigh to hips to chest, fusing into one entity of light and dark, witch and wizard, negative and positive. Their arms wrapped around each other, Hermione's hands in his hair, Severus' fingers freeing her loosely gathered curls to grab handfuls of her thick, glorious mane and hold her head to his.

In the fireplace, the kindling ignited and flared to merry life, crackling and snapping. Neither Severus nor Hermione noticed.

Several long moments later, when they were both moaning and gasping for breath, their foreheads resting against each other's, Severus realized Hermione was trembling, and when he opened his eyes to look at her, he saw tears brimming in her expressive eyes.

"Hermione, love, what is it?" The term of endearment was a first for him, and it tumbled effortlessly from his lips. He was slightly shocked by the evidence of his instinct guiding his actions, but at the first touch of her fingers to his face he settled.

Delicately, she stroked his goatee.

Absently, Severus noticed that her chin was a little red from the eagerness of his attentions, and the roughness of his facial hair against her tender skin. He cupped her cheek with one hand, waiting for her to speak, hardly daring to believe this moment was happening. That it wasn't some horribly Pensieved fantasy that he was living through. Again.

"Oh, Severus, it's just hard to believe that you're here with me. I've wanted this for so long, that it's— I'm afraid I'll wake up to find that you're a dream."

It was mirror enough of his own thoughts that he knew exactly how to respond, despite the fact it was a novel experience for him.

He kissed her softly. "You are not asleep, and this is not a dream. This is very real._We_ are very real. Would you like to discover just how 'real' we are?"

Her tears were replaced with flame, and Hermione held onto his shoulders and fell backwards, taking him with her. She sighed a word. "Yes."

They tumbled to the mat beneath them.

In this position, it was impossible for Severus' arousal not to be felt, and Hermione rocked her hips against him in an age-old response to his need and hers.

"Hermione…" Severus growled before kissing her with purpose, nipping her lip, and then soothing it with his tongue.

Hermione answered with a flick of her tongue to meet his, and then they were awhirl in the sensations of rising need. While their mouths were busy, their hands flew to the fastenings of each other's clothing, but it was awkward given their position. Reluctantly, they broke their lip-lock, and in looking at each other's state of dishabille, they both started to laugh at the absurdity of their clumsiness.

One would think that they were rank neophytes, rather than simply out of practice.

"Blast! This is absurd!" Severus barked.

He scrambled to his knees, fumbling for his wand in the pocket of his trousers. Withdrawing the ebony length, he swished it twice, huskily muttering "_Intectus!"_

Suddenly, they were both naked, and the evidence of their desire was more profound than the spoken word.

Severus' Pensieved fantasy bore no true resemblance to the nude woman lying on the floor, her silky tresses splayed around her head on the pale straw matting, her fair skin lightly sprinkled with freckles and her arousal obvious in the dusky, furled peaks of her breasts. She was slender and curved just so, and his hands itched to touch her.

As if she read his mind, the titian-haired temptress sat up, cross-legged, and reached for him, for his erection, one hand wrapping around his shaft and the other cupping his testicles.

Severus sucked in his breath at her assertiveness and realized there were benefits to coupling with a younger, Muggleborn witch. Witches of his generation were more inhibited than this direct and lusty wench who was stroking him and bending forward to—

"Merlin's balls!"

Without preamble or warning, Hermione had taken his shaft into her mouth, her warm, wet, eager mouth.

It had been far too long since Severus had enjoyed this particular form of sexual foreplay. His eyes rolled up into his head, eyelids closing as he retreated to the here and now, and the delicious suction Hermione was exerting on his throbbing erection. His free hand caressed her hair, following her movements as she stroked him with her mouth and tongue. One of her hands continued to caress his scrotal sac, while the other had wrapped around his lean hips, pulling him closer to her, giving her deeper access to him.

He shuddered in reaction.

Gods above! She could take his entire length into her mouth. Severus could feel the back of her throat, as his hips thrust into her mouth. The vibrations from her little mewls of satisfaction were unbelievably stimulating.

The heavy musk of their mutual desire filled his nostrils, and Severus realized Hermione was just as aroused as he was. Feeling the familiar tingling forewarning him of his impending climax, Severus stopped thrusting. He didn't want his first orgasm with Hermione to be from the best fellatio he'd ever experienced. No, he wanted it to be inside her, with her legs wrapped around his waist.

He gritted out the words. "Hermione… stop."

Growling a little in protest, she did indeed stop. Pulling back, unfolding her legs to rise on her haunches, her hands moved to his hips. Hermione tilted her head to look at him, lips moist and full from her exertions, hair tumbling over her shoulders, several strands curling around her breasts, one taut nipple playing peek-a-boo through the wild strands.

Severus had never seen a more erotic sight.

He held onto the shreds of his control. All he wanted to do was fling her backwards and thrust into her until he was lost in an oblivion of orgasmic ecstasy. Instead, some small part of his functioning brain reminded him that he wanted this to be a frequent recreation for the rest of their lives, and not some frantic one-time shag.

"Do you think we should move this to a more… comfortable location?"

What he had not earlier recognized as a spark of insecurity disappeared in her eyes with his suggestion to continue. He realized Hermione had thought for a moment he was rejecting her. Mentally, he cursed his past behavior, but silently vowed to erase all her qualms; he knew far too intimately how much the uncertainties could hurt. Before she could even respond to his request, he wanted to answer her unspoken fear. "Oh, love, I do not plan on leaving you."

Hermione's smile was reward enough for now, and she rose up to press herself against him.

Her skin felt like satin, and Severus' erect shaft snuggled against her bare hips, resting against her lower abdomen.

Leaning into him, Hermione flung out one hand and wandlessly summoned her mattress. "_Accio _futon!"

For a moment, Severus had forgotten what he knew about Ryokan – traditional inns. There would be no bed, only futon mattresses on the floor. A previously unnoticed closet door slid open, and a dark blue, eight-inch thick, hand-packed mattress flew to the floor next to them, where it unfolded itself.

Severus couldn't help himself, he snorted with whimsy as he voiced his thought, "Have futon, will travel."

Hermione's answering chuckle eased any remaining momentary doubt between them. Then her breath hitched with the weight of the moment, and she pushed Severus onto his back on the surprisingly dense but comfortable futon. Her eyes raked over his prone figure, lean, pale and toned.

Her pulse raced and she was done playing around.

Tossing her head, long hair arcing over her shoulder, Hermione straddled Severus' hips, positioning herself above his proud shaft. Eyes never leaving his, she guided his erection into her very wet core. It had been years since she was intimate with a man, and she had to go very slowly, allowing her muscles to stretch, to accommodate his size. Her eyes closed at the realization of her long-cherished dream.

Severus hissed at the incredibly snug fit as she impaled herself on his erection; instinctively, his hips bucked upward in response to the indescribable pleasure. When Hermione's eyelids had fluttered closed, her head dipped backwards and he was finally sheathed entirely within her.

"Ah, Gods!" Hermione sighed and began to move.

Unwilling to be a passive participant, Severus reached for her breasts, and with deft fingers, he tugged, rolled and pinched until she was writhing and moaning loudly atop him. He felt his release build in time with the increasing speed of their rhythm.

He wasn't about to climax without Hermione being equally satisfied, so he trailed one hand down her torso, feeling the rippling muscles as they tensed and flexed, snaking his way to the juncture of their congress. His fingers threaded through her tightly-furled, damp curls until they found her pulse point, and he proceeded to show her exactly what manual dexterity was all about.

Within seconds she arched, gasped, and cried out his name, as she shattered in his arms.

Severus felt her contractions as they ripped through Hermione's body, constricting in waves around him. He felt the delicious tightening, the forerunner of his own orgasm, and quickly splayed one hand between her shoulders to brace her and rolled over, coming to rest in the cradle of her thighs.

Hermione arched into him, and he angled himself on his arms to greater leverage as he ground his hips into her, prolonging her orgasm and their pleasure.

Severus shuddered and thrust once, twice more, and erupted inside the still-convulsing woman lying beneath him. Shaking and profoundly satisfied, Severus collapsed forward onto Hermione's chest, gasping for breath.

After a moment or two, Hermione turned her head and kissed him gently, lovingly.

Severus rolled to the side, draping his left arm across her naked, sweaty torso, holding her against him. He was more content than ever before.

The merry little fire in the corner of the room couldn't entirely banish the chill of the early spring air, and it began to permeate the room and sink into their cooling bodies.

Hermione raised her head, her cheeks still flushed from their lovemaking. "Thank you. That was… better than I'd ever imagined, and I've had a lot of years to imagine."

He raised an eyebrow at her, "So it would seem."

She smiled with genuine affection, tracing her fingers over his forearm, and as if it were nothing, the outlines of his Dark Mark.

He stiffened and pulled his arm back.

Hermione leaned across his chest and captured his left arm, lacing her fingers with his. She bent and kissed him before continuing with her previous thought. "Would you care to try my onsen?"

From the frozen look on his face, she realized he was assimilating her gesture and had no idea what she was talking about. Giving him time to recover his equanimity, she explained that one of the big attractions of her residence was the local hot springs, or 'onsen' in Japanese. There were several natural sites around Ashinoko, and she was lucky enough to have one of the springs within her garden.

Severus allowed her little lecture to wash over him as he grasped the fact she honestly didn't care about the Dark Mark. That, in her eyes, he wasn't eternally tainted by its presence. Something in his chest expanded with her matter-of-fact acceptance and he began to truly believe, for the first time, that a future with Hermione could be realized.

He smiled at her in reassurance and refocused on her words.

"Honestly, Severus, it's the reason I chose this particular house. Have you ever bathed in the Japanese fashion? I would be honored to introduce you to the hedonistic delights of a good soak. The prefects' bathrooms at Hogwarts are wonderful, but this is an entirely different experience, and immensely satisfying."

He found her nervous babble utterly endearing. If he remembered correctly, at any moment she would bite her lip. There. Just like that. Somehow her vulnerability called to the remnants of his uncertainty and set him at ease. Now it was his turn to banish her residual insecurities.

"My dear, I would be willing to try just about anything with you, including the delights of local bathing customs." He leaned up to kiss her, his fingers burrowing into the wild tangle of her hair.

Her immediate, enthusiastic response set the blood thrumming in his veins.

Hermione ended the kiss, and levered herself off his long form, wondering how soon was too soon before she could entice him into making love to her again. After all, wizards needed some time to recharge.

Her eyes raked his naked, recumbent body, following the triangular scattering of raven-dark hair across his chest, narrowing to a thin trail from his navel to the wiry curls of his groin.

A tingling sensation deep in her abdomen served to remind her that while her desire for Severus had been slaked momentarily, it was banked like a coal fire, waiting for the breath of air to rekindle it to life. While she contemplated Severus' altogether tempting body, she strove to pull her hair into some semblance of order, the errant strands having a life of their own, and Severus didn't help by gently twining her long curls around his fingers.

Finally, she rose from the futon.

Curiously bereft without her weight on his chest, Severus gazed at her slender body, and enjoyed looking at the soft curves of her breasts, the dip of her waist, rounding into nicely balanced hips. His eyes traveled to the thatch of curls at the juncture of her thighs, and idly he calculated how soon he could coax her in a return to their earlier activities.

He knew, with a sense of rightness that had taken years for him to recognize, that he didn't want to give this – her – up. Ever.

Hermione held out her hand to him, and asked archly, "Shall we?"

"With pleasure," he responded, rising to his feet.

Naked and hand-in-hand they walked to the wide, wooden terrace of her small house, where Hermione pushed back the enormous, sliding window to step outside. Turning to the left, she led the way toward to her small, fenced-off garden.

Severus enjoyed the complete privacy of her home and the simple pleasure of walking with her at his side. That they were unencumbered by clothing gave him the very masculine pleasure of studying her nude body. The way she moved with the same languid grace he had noticed from those first few moments she had been in his chambers the previous August.

As he watched her hips sway with her walk, Severus felt a stirring in his groin and wondered if she would always have this effect upon him. He was more than willing to find out.

They padded barefoot to the end of the terrace where her house nestled into the hillside. Hermione once again slid some screens back into the wall - they were sliding shoji screens. The opaque rice paper squares hid the magically heated slate flooring and stone bathing facility, complete with adjacent shower and deep hip bath. Immediately to the right of the terrace was a rocky outcropping, which Severus could see formed a ring of natural stone surrounding a rather large basin of steaming water.

It was Hermione's own private hot springs, nestled within the dense foliage and carefully tended garden.

"C'mon, Severus. Since my first experience, this has been a favorite part of my living in Japan."

"Then by all means show me, Hermione. I remember enough about your study habits to be assured that you've researched this thoroughly, and I think I shall enjoy the results of your diligence."

"Are you going to grade my efforts?" The amber flecks in Hermione's eyes seemed to glow as she enjoyed their teasing, and she entered her bathing room, feeling his eyes watching her.

"Hmmm… perhaps," was his slightly distracted response.

She flushed with pleasure, and felt an intense spurt of satisfaction that Severus obviously liked what he was looking at. She sensed they were embarking on something unique and worth treasuring.

Severus remained on the terrace, alternately watching her and taking in the beauty of their surroundings. He noted the lush verdure of the garden, and not wanting to sit on a sharp, rocky protrusion, he carefully eyed the heated pool, ascertaining the surface of the rocks had been smoothed. Whether it had been done by magical or Muggle means he couldn't tell, but in either case, the results would render the rock more comfortable.

Listening to Hermione's preparations in her bathroom, he turned to watch her. She had become graceful over the years, and her natural lack of pretense was powerfully appealing, so much so that his heart clenched in his chest.

Mine, his heart declared. She's mine.

Unaware of the Neanderthal direction of Severus' thoughts, Hermione pulled out a small wooden stool, a round cedar bucket made of wide slats, and a stiff bristled body brush. From a cupboard, she also retrieved a small basin filled with a thick, gelatinous liquid, shimmering with a pearlescent gleam. She could tell that he couldn't quite make out the scent, and Hermione smiled at him indulgently, knowing that his keen nose and potions expertise would be attempting to catalog the ingredients in her liquid soap.

"It's of local manufacture," she said. "One of the elder witches makes this for her family and a few select friends. She gave me the recipe after I removed a long-time curse from her family's shrine. It's a liquid soap with interesting adaptive properties. I did a little research, and I think the reactive ingredient is fluxweed. However, the fragrance alters with the body chemistry of whoever uses it. In other words, it will smell differently on you than it does on me. I've not bought a single bottle of perfume or Sleekeasy's since I've begun using it."

He allowed her to lead him to the small stool and took a seat at her prompting.

He smirked when he realized her breasts were at mouth level, and holding her hips in place for a moment, he savored the dusky, responsive peaks. Flicking his tongue over a rigid nipple, Severus felt a stirring in his groin, the hint of surging tumescence between his legs. Remarkable, he thought. His desire for this woman remained undiminished, even after their earlier heady coupling.

As Severus rolled the tightly-furled bud of Hermione's breast gently between his teeth, he heard the satisfying hitch in her breath and felt her body sway, ever so slightly. Immediately wrapping his arms around her, he held her steady, reveling in the silk of her skin.

"Severus…"

Her voice was almost a purr, and it washed over him, inciting his passion. He fleetingly wondered how painful the stone floor would be if he were to take her here and now. He looked up at her amber-flecked brown eyes and watched as she caught her lower lip between her teeth, letting the plump fullness slide across her teeth. It was a surprisingly sensual display.

Hermione ran her fingers through Severus' long, slightly oily hair and locked gazes with the intense black eyes of her lover, accurately reading the desire and calculation in them. She smiled and responded to his unvoiced thought, "Not unless _you _want to be on the bottom. I have other plans for you, and all of them involve my getting to bathe you."

Relenting, the lithe wizard relinquished his hold on her breast and hips, allowing her to proceed.

Severus did his best to sulk, although it no longer worked because he wasn't truly unhappy. Besides, he wondered just what her 'plans' entailed. If it felt anything remotely close to what she was currently doing to his back, he wouldn't remember even how to complain. Blessed nymph, the witch could wield a brush! The bristles were thickly coated with the viscous local soap and caused a unique, slick, prickling sensation in a rhythmic circular pattern on his skin.

A fragrance assailed his nostrils - 'his fragrance,' he assumed – and it was a slightly astringent and exotic blend that he liked immediately. Giving himself over to the sensations of being pampered by the witch of his dreams, the Potions Master let his mind wander to cataloguing the unique elements compounding 'his' scent: sandalwood, rosemary, and some sort of citrus. Later, Hermione would identify it as yuzu, a small Japanese citrus fruit often used for accent flavors in soups and other dishes.

After several minutes of coddling, his skin was tingling, and Hermione had finished laving his entire body with the viscous liquid, including his hair and face. She had spent a long time exploring his goatee. Her gentle hands left his body humming with arousal. Hefting the cedar-plank bucket over his head she tipped it forward, allowing warm water to cascade over him, rinsing the residual lather from his body.

Another bucketful and he felt truly clean for the first time in years. A distant portion of his mind thought about acquiring a sample of this 'soap' to investigate its other properties.

Hermione stepped back to survey her work, and her eyes rested on his half-mast erection. She cocked an eyebrow - surely that wasn't her own habit - and gave him a Mona Lisa smile.

Severus rose to the bait, stood and advanced upon her, noticing how liberally sprinkled with soap suds she was. With his eyes, he followed a particularly frothy trail of suds blazing its path from between her breasts to puddle in her navel. His eyes dilated until the black of his irises and the onyx of his eyes seemed nothing more than reflective chunks of obsidian.

His breath was more than a little ragged as he growled the words. "My turn."

Hermione backpedaled rapidly until she was against the wall. She raised a palm to his clean chest, preventing his further advance, "No," she said, her tone husky. "_You _get to watch, and then _we_ get to soak in the hot springs. You know, local lore has it that the Ashinoko onsen have a very positive effect on the libido."

Her eyes shimmered with desire, once again the black gold of earlier, and Severus desisted, letting her have her way. Besides, watching her scrub would have its own appeal.

Hermione waited until he sat, then dipped her hands into the stone basin at her feet. She proceeded to lather herself, paying careful attention to her breasts, hips, and derriere. Every now and then, she cast glances in Severus' direction, just to make certain he was paying attention. He was.

He found her display captivating, and Severus didn't think he had drawn breath since Hermione first circled her breasts with the gelatinous soap.

Once her skin was completely lathered, Hermione scooped another handful from the basin and began to wash her hair. Arching her neck and coating the long, wild strands of her titian-colored hair, Hermione's movements were unstudied and graceful.

Severus' groin ached with need; he wanted to watch this ritual for the remainder of his life. When she was completely coated, Hermione reached for the self-filling cedar bucket, but Severus beat her to it. With one long stride he gained her side, breathed into her ear, "Allow me," and poured the heated water over the slender witch who was every fantasy he had ever had, and then some.

When she was completely rinsed, Hermione wiped the excess moisture from her eyes, and tilted her head up to him. Her teasing smile faded, only to be replaced with a look of complete wonder. Raising one small hand to his face, she fingered the now silken dark beard and, in a breathy half-moan, whispered, "You really are here. I… it's… Oh, Severus."

Her throat constricted and Hermione flung herself into his more than willing arms.

For several very long moments, all they did was hold each other, breathing in the rich fragrances of their personalized scents. After their long journey, with all its attendant heartache and self-discovery, they had found a way to bridge the gap of years, experience, and sorrow, to meet somewhere halfway. It was up to them to discover whether their path from here was together or separate. By the way they clung to one another the odds were that each would do whatever it took to make certain that their paths would coincide.

Once they reassured each other that they were, in fact, real, and in each other's arms, they became aware of the rising tide of desire.

Hermione lifted her head to be kissed.

Severus didn't disappoint.

This time, this kiss was more like a homecoming than a tentative venture into the unknown. A bubble of heat seemed to burst between them, coating the two with warmth and joy. Breaking the kiss, Hermione stepped back and turned toward the steaming water awaiting them in the garden.

"Come along, love. I want to share this with you."

Severus quietly padded behind her, thinking he just might follow her to hell and back, and then remembered that he already had. Gods, he loved this witch. And he realized that it was time to say it. His heart hammered in his chest with his decision.

First, he followed her into the pool, stepping down the roughly-hewn stone steps that led into the onsen. The temperature was higher than he normally liked, but he followed her nonetheless.

Hermione waded right through the shallow end to where the water lapped at her shoulders and she found a small shelf-like protrusion where she perched and turned to him.

Severus made his way to her, and surprisingly, his arousal hadn't been dimmed by the heat of the pool. In fact, all the residual tension that he had carried for years seemed to simply melt from his muscles. He felt more carefree than he had since Voldemort's defeat. Much of it, he knew, was due to this woman, this wonderful, intelligent witch.

He stepped up to her and cupped her face in his hands, delighted that she eagerly tilted to meet his kiss. She wasn't holding anything back, and Severus could see the love shimmering in the depths of her eyes. He tilted his forehead against hers and whispered the fateful words, "I love you, Hermione."

"Really?"

He chuckled at her ingenuous response, and his heart clenched a little at her residual uncertainty. "Yes, really. I haven't known it for very long, but I think I have loved you since the final battle. I have just hidden it for one reason or another. You will never know just how grateful I am that you broke my wards that day in August. I do love you."

"Severus," she breathed his name, and it anchored in his soul. "You already know that I love you. There has never been a day in the past decade when I haven't. I know that now is not really the time to talk about this, but I need to tell you. You have a right to know. I loved my husband, Brian. He was an awful lot like Harry, and I was faithful to him. He knew all about you, and was willing to build our relationship on friendship. We had a good marriage. But Severus, there has only ever been, and will ever be, one love of my life…"

She couldn't continue, and it wasn't because she couldn't find the words, but that his mouth had stopped her.

This kiss was as dissimilar as each of their previous kisses. It was possessive and searing, branding her forever as the Potions Master's mate. It was so inflammatory that Hermione shivered in response, the surrounding warmth of the pool suddenly seeming cold in comparison to the heat that flooded her limbs and pulsed in her core.

"Love, oh, my brave little lioness." His voice was low and gritty with emotion.

Severus pulled her off the ledge and up out of the water, her legs automatically wrapped around his waist, and his hard shaft cradled at the juncture of her thighs. In one swift movement, he was sheathed to the hilt in her glove-tight depths. Hermione's sharp cry of pleasure was echoed by his guttural groan.

They remained conjoined, unmoving for several moments, each enjoying filling and being filled by the other.

"Ahhhh... Move, Severus, please."

He did, slow, rocking movements, in and out, his hands guiding her hips. The water lapped along the edges of the boulders rimming the pool, and in the distance, the chirping of native birds could be heard, as well as the insistent buzz of insects in the nearby forest and foliage.

"Like this, love?"

"Gods, yes." Hermione nipped along Severus' jaw line, nuzzling against the short hairs of his goatee, down his clean shaven neck until one deeper thrust caused her to fling back her head and moan loudly. She crushed her breasts against Severus' chest, her taut nipples rubbing against the slightly coarse, dark hair.

Severus panted with the building need of his release, and he began to plunge into the woman attached to him like a limpet. With each thrust, he silently chanted his intentions, making each a vow.

Thrust; he was never leaving Hermione again.

Thrust, he would bind her to him for eternity.

Thrust; he would strive to make her happy.

Thrust, he would love her forever.

Hermione was making mewling sounds as she suckled on the juncture of Severus' neck and shoulders. She had never felt such an animalistic need to mark a man, and as she bit down on the tendon of his neck, she realized that she was doing just that, marking him as her territory. Hers.

Spurred by Hermione's nip, Severus changed the tempo of their love-making, angling his hips differently, pumping into her.

Hermione arched her back, and Severus let her float in the water perpendicular to his body, her hair taking on a life of its own as it fanned out around her head. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and her mouth was kiss-bruised. He hadn't thought he could get any harder than he already was, but he was wrong.

Fiercely, Severus pulled her hips to him, the different angle permitting deeper thrusts. His mind splintered as he groaned at the exquisite tightness of her body. He'd paid years' worth of penance with misery, loneliness, and celibacy, but he had finally found his reward, and she wanted him.

His release was seconds away and he drove into her, hard. The ripples caused by his movement lapping back upon themselves to slap against him as he ruffled the still waters of the onsen. He deserved whatever happiness he could find with his witch, and he was taking it.

"Hermione!" he shouted as his orgasm thundered through him. It was so powerful that his knees buckled. Only the buoyancy of the water kept him upright.

Severus gasped, sucking air into his lungs, regaining his coordination.

Hermione's legs were still wrapped around him, even as her torso floated freely in the water. Her dark eyes followed Severus' every move, while her pouting mouth beckoned him to ravish her. Her breath was ragged as she danced on the brink of her own orgasm.

Severus wasn't about to leave her wanting; she was his witch.

Deftly, he unhooked her legs and lifted her off his still partially erect shaft. He raised her hips to the surface of the hot springs until Hermione floated chest deep. The tall wizard hooked his arms under and around Hermione's thighs, across her lower abdomen, and tugged her close to him. His eyes locked onto hers, all the emotion of the moment arcing between them, elevating their heart beats to an orchestrated tempo.

With a grin, Severus held their visual connection as he leaned forward to taste their combined essence. Salty, slightly astringent; the high mineral content of the onsen added a piquant flavor to their natural bodily secretions. He heard her gasp, and her eyes dilated and became glassy as Severus nibbled, nipped and suckled at her nether lips, his tongue flicking her pulsing nodule. Throughout his exploration, he never once broke eye contact with her, never breeched her trust by casting Legilimency, it was unnecessary. Their emotional connection was so powerful it was as if they had bonded through their eyes.

Hermione wrapped her hands in Severus' hair, her breath coming in panting gasps, and she felt the coiling deep within her abdomen.

Then the Hero of the Last Battle discovered that when he nuzzled his witch with the short hairs of his goatee, she screamed his name and came undone in his arms.

Severus watched the glorious sight of Hermione flushing in orgasm, relishing the slight pain her fingers caused spasmodically clenching in his hair. She had broken visual contact as her eyes fluttered shut with the power of her release, and he reveled in the fact that she was so unguarded with him.

As her breathing eased out, Hermione opened her eyes and found his. A sated smile crossed her lips, and she shakily pulled herself toward him. The heat of the water and the intensity of their sexual union combined to leave her feeling as if she were having an out-of-body experience. "Oh, Severus. That was… I can't find the words. It was remarkable. Amazing. I don't think I've ever felt like that before. It was simply… Wow."

Severus pulled his witch into his arms, and remarked dryly, "For someone who can't find the words, you're doing quite well."

Hermione laughed, ruefully, and kissed him. It was soft and lingering and expressed her thanks more eloquently than mere words.

Severus, feeling as relaxed as he had ever been, waded to the submerged ledge and sat, pulling her onto his lap.

She twisted to straddle him. It wasn't sexual, but the intimacy was unmistakable and perhaps more potent. Hermione draped her arms around his neck and tucked her head under his chin.

With great good humor, he smiled at the witch on his lap, and lightly teased her. "It seems I am once again able to give you a passing mark on your research, Miss Granger."

Her laugh was infectious and he joined her, his baritone voice blending with her contralto in a happy chorus.

Once their laughter subsided, Severus spoke with a hint of seriousness, "I find that I must also advise you that, in addition to releasing the wards on the Mishima box, I have completed the final assignment you gave me in August."

"Hmmmm… what assignment?"

"I believe your last words to me in August were 'I hope you find some joy.' I can safely state that to my everlasting surprise I have. I believe she is sitting in my lap."

Joy expanded, bubbled and burst into thousands of shards of glowing, lilting happiness, showering them both, and Hermione kissed him.

Afterwards, they sat in silence for a good long while, neither feeling the need to speak or break the rapport they seemed to have found. Only after their fingers began to wrinkle and their stomachs to rumble, did they realize that it'd been several hours since breakfast.

Hermione raised her head and asked simply, "Where do we go from here? I don't want to lose you to geographic restrictions."

"I will retire. I do not want you to give up your career."

"Severus, I don't want you to give up yours, either. I don't want you to lose anything by having a relationship with me." Her face was stricken by the thought that he would so willingly sacrifice himself for her, for them. A small, victorious voice in her head was screaming 'he's yours, he's yours!'

"I will not be giving up anything. I do not have to work, you know." At the evident surprise on her face, he tamped down the pleasure evidence of her non-mercenary nature filled him with, as he had been down that route once before. "In addition to the revenues from the Compromettere, I am the last of my family, Hermione. There is a small manor in the sleepy Yorkshire village of Snape. It's not what it once was, but the estate is enough to keep us and any children we might have…"

Severus froze.

He couldn't believe he had let his most secretly nurtured dream dribble out of his mouth, one he had never even permitted himself to think. Talk about counting on the Snitch before it's even released.

Hermione felt Severus stiffen underneath her. The expression on his face darkened and his eyes looked over her shoulder. But she wasn't going to let him backpedal. He was hers and she was going to keep him.

"Well, I guess we should talk about where we want them to go to school then. If we decide to have children and live here, the Kyoto Conservatory is an excellent wizarding school. But if we decide to live at Snape, I'd prefer that they attend Hogwarts rather than Beauxbatons or Durmstrang."

Hermione dared to look into his face, and she couldn't remember ever seeing Severus Snape's eyes as wide as they were at that moment. He was apparently shocked speechless. She leaned forward and brushed her lips over his. "You didn't think you were the only one with a cherished dream, did you?'

"Hermione," he groaned and pulled her even closer to him, he braced his forehead against hers.

She took advantage of his momentary fluster; it was a tactic that would serve her well in the future. "I'm not going to let you be the one to make all the sacrifices, you know. I don't own this house, and I can easily return to Gringott's. Every year, the bank offers me an outrageous sum if I'll return to Europe. I could do that, and you could keep teaching, and pursuing your research."

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair, sweeping it off his face. She loved his strong, masculine features: the hooked nose, broken who knew how many times over the years, and his well-shaped lips and strong jaw. He wasn't the idealized image of masculine beauty, but he had long been her version of masculine appeal.

"I didn't leave Japan after Brian's death because I wanted to help the Mishimas, and truthfully, coming home to Britain wasn't coming home because I couldn't have you."

"You have me now, Hermione." Severus buried his face in her damp hair, breathing in her unique scent that was now liberally mingled with his own. After a moment or two, he was able to continue. "I have never liked teaching children who do not wish to learn. I find it endlessly frustrating. What are you laughing at, minx?"

Hermione had begun to laugh when he admitted his frustration.

He was a little exasperated until she kissed him in apology. He shifted her on his lap, and wrapped one of her drying curls around his forefinger. "Since we are being truthful, I would like to retire. There is nothing for me at Hogwarts; it was my refuge after the war and my disastrous engagement. I think I had given up. I have you to thank for changing that."

She caressed his cheek, her fingers lovingly stroking his goatee, a habit she seemed to be forming, and tracing his mouth. She was greatly moved by his confession. "Just as I have to thank you for coming to find me. I love you, and whatever you want to do, I'll support it." She peppered his face with kisses. They'd come so far that happiness was within reach, in fact, was cupped in the palm of their metaphoric hands.

He raised his head and smiled at her, his heart in his eyes, "Actually, I think I would like to keep this house, even if only for vacations. This is where I found you, and it is ours. I would not like to think of anyone else in it other than us."

Her eyes shining, brimming with joy, she leaned in to kiss him. "Oh, yes. I'd like that. Did anyone ever tell you that you're a romantic?"

"Never." He said it with a hint of his old disdain, but it no longer worked on her. She laughed and kissed him again.

"You've made me very happy, Severus. When do you have to go back?"

"Not for six more days, and I will tender my resignation when I return." With his heart in his mouth, Severus was certain he knew the answer to his next question, but he still had to ask, and it would make or break his future. "Will you come with me, Hermione?"

"Always."

~o0o~

_Finite Incantatum_

_12/2004_


End file.
